ANDERSEN'S    WORKS 


• 


G-,L.Voorhees 
Library-No.7 


0 


IN    SPAIN 


AND 


A  VISIT  TO   PORTUGAL. 


BY 

HANS   CHRISTIAN   ANDERSEN, 

AUTHOR    OF    THE    "  IMPROVISATORS,"    ETC. 


SE  VENTH  EDITION. 


BOSTON: 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY. 
Etoersrtie  Press, 


RIVERSIDE,  CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED    AND    PRINTED    BY 
H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  COMPANY. 


Annex 


CONTENTS. 

IN   SPAIN. 
CHAPTER  L 

PAGE 
ENTRANCE  INTO  SPAIN I 

CHAPTER  II. 

BARCELONA  ...  .....        H 

CHAPTER  III. 

VALENCIA    ....  28 

CHAPTER  IV. 

ALMANSA  AND  ALICANTE  .          .  .....        38 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  JOURNEY  BY    DILIGENCE  OVER  ELCHE  TO  MURCIA    ...        4$ 

CHAPTER  VI. 
MURCIA 52 

CHAPTER  VII. 

CARTAGENA 58 

CHAPTER  VIIL 

MALAGA 66 

CHAPTER  IX. 

GRANADA     . 83 

CHAPTER  X. 

FROM  GRANADA  TO  GIBRALTAR Il8 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XL 

PACK 
A  VISIT  TO  AFRICA     .  129 

CHAPTER  XII. 

CADIZ. 150 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

SEVILLA 157 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

CORDOVA 173 

CHAPTER  XV. 

OVER  SANTA  CRUZ  DE  MUDELA  TO  MADRID l8l 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

MADRID 187 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

TOLEDO 2OI 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BURGOS          .  211 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

OVER  THE  PYRENEES  TO  BIARRITZ 2l8 


A  VISIT  TO  PORTUGAL. 
CHAPTER  I. 

BORDEAUX.— RISTORI  AS  "  MEDEA." — IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  BASQUES. 
—  BURGOS.  —  TRIP  ON  THE  CARS  TO  MADRID,  AND  THE  STAY 
THERE.  —  ROMANTIC  JOURNEY  WITH  THE  COURIER  FROM 
TRUXILLO  TO  BADAJOS.  —  THE  BLOSSOM  OF  BEAUTY  .  .  228 

CHAPTER  II. 

-INIEROS —  MY  NEW  HOME.  —  ARCOS  DOS  AQUAS  LIVRES. — THE 
LONELY  PARK.  —  THE  VILLA  OF  MARQUIS  FRONTEIRA.  — 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

PACK 

HOUSEHOLD  LIFE.  —  A    ROMANTIC    STORY.  —  NIGHTLY    QUIET. 
—  THE  SONG  OF  THE  NUNS.  —  THE  CHURCH-YARD  OF  ST.  JOHN      238 

CHAPTER   III. 

LISBON.  —  CAMOENS.  —  CASTILHO.  —  KING  FERNANDO.  —  RETRO- 
SPECT IN  PORTUGAL'S  HISTORY. — THE  CORPUS  DOMINI  FEAST  246 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  MONTH  IN  SETUBAL. — THE  COUNTRY-PLACE  DOS  BONEGOS. — 
THE  CLOISTER  BRANCANAS.  —  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  —  ST.  AN- 
THONY'S FEAST. —  THE  POET  PORTELLA.  —  BULL-FIGHT THE 

"JESUS"  CHURCH.  —  SILHOUETTE    OF   SETUBAL. — MONTE  AR- 
RABIDA.  —  A  SAND-FLIGHT.  —  BURIED  CITY.  —  EVENING  MOODS     255 

CHAPTER  V. 

VISIT  TO  AVEIRO  AND  COIMBRA.  — CINTRA'S  BEAUTY.  —  FAREWELL 

TO    "PINIEROS" 271 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A    COUPLE  OF  DAYS  IN  LISBON.  —  ON    THE   STEAMER   "NAVARRO" 

FROM  LISBON  TO  BORDEAUX        .......      283 


IN   SPAIN. 

CHAPTER  I. 

ENTRANCE  INTO  SPAIN. 

WHEN  railroads  were  first  opened  in  Europe,  a  cry  was 
heard  that  now  the  old  and  pleasant  modes  of  travel- 
ling were  at  an  end  —  that  all  the  poetry  of  travel  had  van- 
ished, its  enchantment  lost.  Just  then,  however,  the  enchant- 
ment commenced.  We  now  fly  on  the  wings  of  steam,  and 
before  us  and  around  us  behold  picture  upon  picture  in  rich 
t  succession  ;  these  are  cast  like  bouquets  to  us  —  now  a  thick 
wood,  now  a  town,  now  mountains  and  valleys.  We  have  but 
to  set  out  and  dwell  with  all  that  is  most  beautiful,  glide  past 
what  is  uninteresting,  and,  with  the  speed  of  a  bird's  flight, 
reach  our  destination.  Is  not  this  like  enchantment  ? 

The  mind  expands,  thought  grows  more  rich  and  free, 
Though  words  are  poor  to  picture  all  we  see  : 
'Tis  joyful  thus  with  crowds  to  whirl  along. 
Father  in  heaven,  accept  my  grateful  song. 

Thus  seemed  all  within  me  and  without  me  to  be  chanting. 

Across  Germany,  through  Switzerland,  into  France,  we  bent 
our  way.  The  end  of  the  journey  was  to  be,  for  me,  the  beau- 
tiful, but  hitherto  seldom  visited,  Spain ;  and  with  joy  I  de- 
scried the  bluish  Pyrenees. 

At  Perpignan,  in  France,  there  was  an  end  of  railways,  but 
from  thence  it  is  only  a  few  hours'  journey  into  Spain.  Of 
this  journey  I  had  heard  the  most  terrific  accounts.  The  dili- 
gences were  described  as  vehicles  of  torture,  —  great  heavy  om- 
nibuses, with  an  entrance  only  on  one  side,  so  that  one  could 


2  IN  SPAIN. 

not  escape,  when  one  was  overturned  in  them,  and  they  were 
always  being  upset. 

Protestants  in  this  part  of  the  country  were  despised  and 
persecuted  as  if  they  were  heathens  ;  travellers  were  constantly 
exposed  to  the  attacks  of  banditti ;  and,  as  far  as  eating  went, 
the  food  was  not  endurable.  I  had  heard  all  this,  I  had  read 
all  this,  and  now  I  was  to  encounter  it  all.  At  Perpignan, 
where  the  railway  stopped,  I  was  also  to  enter  upon  the  old- 
fashioned  mode  of  travelling  ;  I  was  again  to  take  my  place  in 
the  poetical  conveyance  of  the  old  poetic  times.;  but  I  am  not 
poet  enough  to  rejoice  in  these  old  times,  I  prefer  the  new  with 
the  comforts  which  it  brings.  I  was,  however,  obliged  to  give 
myself  up  to  these  old  times  ;  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

The  diligence  was  to  start  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing :  to  be  off  at  three  in  the  morning  means,  to  get  up  at 
two  o'clock  ;  and  if  you  are  to  rise  at  that  hour,  you  may  as 
well  not  go  to  bed  at  all.  But  I  did  lie  down,  and  slept  a 
little  at  intervals,  started  up,  looked  at  my  watch,  and  looked 
up  at  the  starry  skies.  At  length,  at  half-past  two,  I  called  up 
the  people  of  the  house,  whose  business  it  was  to  have  called 
me,  and  having  taken  a  draught  of  cold  water,  the  only  thing 
to  be  obtained  at  that  hour,  I  and  my  fellow-traveller,  Jonas 
Coll  in,  wended  our  way  to  the  diligence  office,  —  a  large,  dark 
room  like  a  stable,  in  a  narrow  street.  A  light  placed  on  a 
barrel  disclosed  to  us  six  diligences  jammed  up  together  : 
there  was  not  much  room  for  the  numbers  who  were  to  take 
their  departure  from  this  place. 

Now  came  one  traveller,  now  another  ;  no  one  knew  each 
other,  none  spoke  to  each  other  ;  one  sat  down  on  an  upset 
wooden  case,  another  sat  on  a  trunk,  a  third  disappeared 
amongst  the  harnesses  lying  against  the  walls,  and  many  more 
than  one  weie  lost  to  view  in  the  dark  corners  around.  The 
carriages  were  being  laden  with  luggage  and  human  beings, 
while  twelve  horses  with  jingling  bells,  promising  good  speed, 
were  attached  to  each.  1  got  a  place  in  the  coupe,  with  a  lady 
and  her  daughter,  both  Spaniards,  and  with  enormously  large 
crinolines:  if  they  had  gone  to  Skagen^the  mother  alone 
would  have  covered  the  whole  of  the  northern  part  of  the  little 
1  The  Skaw. 


ENTRANCE  INTO  SPAIN.  3 

promontory.     I  felt  as  if  I  sat  by  the  side  of  a  balloon  that 
was  being  inflated. 

The  postilions  cracked  their  whips,  and  we  set  off,  swinging 
from  side  to  side  in  the  narrow  streets,  cut  over  the  draw- 
bridge, through  the  fortifications  —  environs  that  might  be 
painted  as  theatrical  scenery  for  a  drama  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
At  last  the  wide,  open  high  road  lay  before  us.  The  Senora 
was  asleep ;  she  was  dreaming,  probably,  of  her  beautiful 
Spain,  where  she  had  loved,  and  been  loved,  for  she  had  a 
daughter.  I  also  dreamt  of  Spain  —  dreamt  with  open  eyes 
and  waking  thoughts,  wondering  what  might  turn  up  for  me. 

The  daughter  neither  slept  nor  dreamt,  but  all  her  thoughts 
seemed  to  be  centred  in  a  small  sac  de  nuit,  or  large  knitted 
bag,  which  she  held  in  her  lap ;  she  was  constantly  lifting  it 
and  moving  it,  and  I  was  quite  annoyed  by  it,  after  I  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  crinoline. 

What  could  there  be  in  that  bag,  and  what  might  there  be 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Pyrenees  ?  These  two  thoughts  lay 
strangely  coupled  together  in  my  mind. 

A  very  bright  lamp  in  front  of  the  carriage  lighted  up  the 
road  and  its  bordering  rows  of  pines  and  plane-trees.  A  little 
farther  off  stood,  like  marks  of  interjection,  cypress-trees  — 
drooping  umbrellas  they  have  been  called,  and  here,  in  the 
cloudless  light  atmosphere,  the  name  seemed  appropriate. 
Now,  however,  we  are  beyond  heavy  rains  and  drizzling 
rains,  and  umbrellas  may  be  closed,  for  we  are  entering  the 
summer  lands  of  Spain.  The  light  from  the  lamp  glared  upon 
the  umbrellas  —  that  is  to  say,  the  cypresses  —  but  did  not  ex- 
tend farther  ;  the  Bible's  "  Tohuwabohu,"  the  chaotic,  was  be- 
yond them  in  the  black  darkness,  the  inclosure  of  our  world 
ended  in  the  mysterious,  and  of  what  might  be  behind  that 
we  knew  as  little  as  I  knew  of  what  lay  in  my  neighbor,  the 
young  damsel's  extensive  bag.  But  I  <jould  fancy  that  in  this 
the  most  valued  was  neither  silver  nor  gold  coined  into  money, 
nor  costly  ornaments,  nor  some  piece  of  Parisian  finery  to  be 
smuggled  over  the  frontier.  No  ;  a  poet's  eyes  penetrated  the 
secrets  of  the  work-bag,  and  I  saw  there  a  man,  a  good-look- 
ing man,  a  good  friend  most  likely,  in  photography;  from  his 
frizzled  hair  down  to  the  point  of  his  nicely-polished  boots  ex- 


4  Iff  SPAIN. 

ceedingly  well  dressed,  though  in  his  own  proper  person,  prob- 
ably, still  handsomer.  I  incommoded  him,  being  so  close  to 
the  side  of  his  lady-love,  and  he  incommoded  me  in  his  case, 
the  enormous  bag  :  now  it  struck  against  my  stomach,  now  it 
lay  upon  my  breast,  as  the  young  Spanish  damsel  assumed  va- 
rious plastic  attitudes,  holding  fast  her  treasure  ;  while  mamma 
was  sleeping,  and  executing  roulades  such  as  sleepers  give 
forth  when  it  is  inconvenient  to  put  any  restraint  on  their 
breathing. 

A  star  in  the  east,  out  over  the  Mediterranean,  shone  so 
wonderfully  bright,  and  looked  so  large,  that  I  was  uncertain 
whether  I  really  saw  a  star  or  a  light-house.  I  had  long 
wished  to  begin  a  conversation  with  the  young  Spaniard, 
trusting  to  my  Spanish  wealth  of  words,  which  consisted  of 
about  a  hundred  common  expressions,  being  brought  into 
speaking  order  —  and  I  have  a  little  talent  for  this  sort  of 
work.  But  what  light-house  was  called  in  Spanish  I  knew  not, 
and  so  I  commenced  with  what  I  did  know — "Estrella  !  "  And 
that  word  fell  like  a  spark,  and  kindled  the  fire  of  conversa- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  Spanish  girl.  She  spoke,  and  her 
words  flowed  like  waters  spouting  from  a  fountain  ;  but  I  did 
not  understand  a  syllable  that  she  said.  When  day  dawned  I 
beheld  the  sea,  and  then  I  exclaimed,  "  El  mar  !  "  Thereupon 
commenced  another  attempt  at  conversation. 

"  Ingle's  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Bands  !  "  I  replied  ;  and  we  began  to  chat  —  that  is  to  say, 
I  gave  the  cue,  and  she  spun  out  the  thread  of  the  discourse. 
I  said,  "  La  poesia  de  la  Espafta  —  Cervantes  —  Calderon  — 
Moreto  !  " 

I  only  mentioned  names  ;  and,  as  each  name  was  uttered, 
her  eloquence  increased,  so  that  her  mamma  was  at  length 
awakened,  when  her  daughter  informed  her  that  I  had  been 
speaking  in  the  most  interesting  manner  about  Spanish  litera- 
ture ;  but  it  was  herself  who  had  been  speaking  —  for  I  could 
not. 

A  piece  of  Alpine  land,  a  majestic  snow-clad  mountain, 
towered  before  us  ;  the  rising  sun  cast  suddenly  its  brilliant 
rays  upon  the  white  snow,  the  hill-top  looked  like  red-hot  iron, 
and  the  whole  mountain  became,  as  it  were,  a  mass  of  flame 


ENTRANCE  INTO  SPAIN.  5 

When  the  sun  had  risen  higher,  and  the  glowing  tints  upon 
the  snow  had  faded  a  little,  we  could  discern  the  base  of  the 
hill ;  and  the  valley,  so  lately  dark  as  night,  assumed  a  hue  of 
violet  red.  It  was  a  peerless  view  —  it  was  an  introductory 
scene,  in  colors,  to  the  Spanish  drama  which  was  now  com- 
mencing for  us. 

The  road  became  more  and  more  steep,  and  most  of  the 
passengers  got  out  of  the  diligence.  We  walked,  in  the  fresh 
morning  air,  a  long  way  upward,  amidst  naked  masses  of 
rock,  and,  before  I  was  aware  of  it,  we  were  out  of  France. 
The  postilions  cracked  their  whips,  the  carriage  rolled  on. 
What  had  become  of  the  lofty  Pyrenees  ? 

We  were  in  Spain,  in  the  first  Spanish  country  town  —  in 
Junquera  !  The  custom-house  visitation,  which  had  been  de- 
scribed to  us  as  rough  and  inquisitorial,  we  found  very  slight, 
and  conducted  in  the  most  polite  manner ;  I  found  also  that 
there  had  not  been  abandoned  the  custom  honored  in  the 
older  time,  of  proffering  a  fee  to  the  officials  —  indeed,  that 
seemed  to  be  the  main  point.  We  drank  our  chocolate  in  the 
open  street ;  the  luggage  was  again  stowed  away  on  and 
about  the  carriage,  and  the  passengers  were  squeezed  in  as 
before.  But  the  spaces  seemed  to  have  become  still  smaller, 
and  the  seats  harder,  and  we  had  the  sun  in  our  eyes.  The 
Senora's  large  bag  became  still  more  inconvenient  to  me,  and 
so  did  the  crinolines.  We  drove  through  pools  of  water,  and 
through  streams  ;  there  were  scarcely  any  bridges  to  be  seen, 
and  even  when  there  was  one,  the  diligence  passed  through 
the  water  below,  all  the  same  ;  the  water  dashed  up  on  all 
sides  ;  the  heavy  carriage  rolled  and  swayed  about,  but  hap- 
pily it  did  not  upset  —  it  held  on  its  way,  like  a  ponderous 
elephant  running  a  race. 

At  Figueras  there  was  breakfast  set  out ;  and  this  was  the 
first  time  that  all  the  travellers  by  the  diligence  had  been  able 
to  see  each  other.  There  was  a  good-natured  Englishman  ; 
it  was  said  that  he  was  a  genius-gatherer  —  or  gardener  ;  he 
transplanted  men  —  an  occupation  not  easy  to  understand.  I 
only  repeat  what  his  travelling  companion,  a  gay  Frenchman, 
said  of  him.  The  Englishman  was  rich  ;  he  had  read  that 


6  IN  SPAIN. 

there  were  always,  anr.idst  the  lowest  class  of  the  poor,  a  num- 
ber of  persons  born  to  excel  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  he 
was  now  hunting  for  these ;  he  was  trying  to  find  such  phe- 
nomena, and  to  lift  them  over  the  hedge  of  adversity,  place 
them  in  the  extensive  gardens  of  education,  and  plant  there  a 
tree  that  might  be  a  credit  to  him  and  his  discrimination.  If 
he  saw,  in  a  field,  a  young  shepherd  lad  cutting  notches  in  a 
stick,  he  immediately  fancied  the  boy  was  destined  for  a 
sculptor,  and  to  become  a  Phidias  by  the  next  Easter ;  if  he 
saw  a  boy  in  the  street  scratching  with  chalk  a  figure  on  any 
boards  or  paling,  he  looked  on  him  as  a  youth  of  great  talent, 
and  had  him  placed  at  a  drawing  school  ;  if  the  son  of  his 
laundress  wrote  a  few  lines  in  rhyme  to  the  green-grocer's  ap- 
prentice, thanking  him  for  an  old  waistcoat  that  was  still 
wearable,  the  boy  was  a  poet,  and  must  be  removed  to  a  posi- 
tion more  open  to  his  genius.  It  was  all  very  charming  and 
fanciful,  but  very  absurd. 

The  breakfast-table  groaned  under  the  weight  of  the  viands 
which  loaded  it ;  roasted  and  boiled  meat,  and  fish  —  a  capi- 
tal breakfast — and  this  in  Spain,  where  we  had  been  told 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  got  to  eat !  Magnificent  fruits, 
excellent  wine  ;  and  I  had  neither  the  contents  of  a  sauce- 
boat  spilled  over  me,  nor  a  dish  of  fish  upset  down  my  back, 
as  lately  had  been  mv  fate  ;  but  I  suffered  from  my  fair  neigh- 
bor's large  bag,  which  held  her  beloved,  for  it  fell  upon  my 
shins.  That  wretched  bag  was  always  bothering  me  —  it  was 
her  delight,  but  my  bane  ! 

Breakfast  over,  we  were  all  stuffed  again  into  the  carriage, 
and  twelve  fresh  mules  attached  to  it,  with  their  jingling  bells  ; 
our  mayoral,  which  means  conductor,  was  also  fresh  and  new, 
and  he  plied  the  whip  with  energy :  our  new  zagal,  the  mule 
driver,  was  most  restless  in  the  performance  of  his  duty,  im- 
mensely active,  and  quite  a  will-o  the-wisp  in  his  movements ; 
now  up  on  the  carriage,  now  down  on  the  road  ;  then  up  again, 
just  to  spring  down ;  pulling  the  mules  to  one  side,  or  backing 
them,  pitching  lumps  of  earth  at  the  most  distant,  always 
shouting  his  "Thiah  /"  and  calling  every  mule  by  its  name  — 
there  were  Citana  and  Caballero,  Masanasa  and  Catolina  ! 
He  scolded  them,  he  abused  them,  and  roared  long  sentences 


ENTRANCE  INTO  SPAIN.  J 

at  them,  which  the  mules  understood,  perhaps,  but  I  did  not. 
The  mayoral  shrieked  with  him,  "  Thiah  !  thiah  !  "  and  the 
carriage  swung  about,  shook,  creaked,  but  got  along  pretty 
fast  —  that  cannot  be  denied. 

Our  speed  was  not  slackened  until  we  approached  the  little 
town  of  Bascara,  where  we  had  to  cross  the  broad,  deep  river 
Fluvia.  It  was  a  very  rapid  stream,  but  there  was  no  bridge 
over  it.  A  diligence  that  was  a  short  way  ahead  of  us  was 
already  struggling  in  the  midst  of  the  river ;  another  diligence 
was  standing  on  its  margin,  while  the  passenger  were  getting 
out  in  expectation  of  finding  a  boat  to  take  them  over,  but  our 
overladen  diligence  tried  its  luck  to  reach  the  other  side.  The 
mayoral  became  quiet ;  none  of  us  expressed  any  fear.  I  found 
it  something  novel  and  amusing,  and  had  no  idea  of  danger  ; 
which,  however,  there  was,  as  I  heard  afterward  at  Barcelona, 
for  just  here,  where  we  crossed,  a  diligence  had  been  upset  in 
the  river  a  short  time  before,  and  two  of  the  passengers  had 
been  drowned. 

Several  peasants  from  Bascara  came  to  our  assistance  ;  none 
of  them  had  anything  but  a  jacket  on,  and  in  this  costume  they 
worked  away,  guiding  and  directing  all :  some  holding  up  the 
carriage,  some  holding  the  mules  fast,  and  before  them  went 
the  pilot  who  knew  the  ford.  The  water  was  up  to  their 
chests,  and  we  had  to  lift  up  our  feet  inside  the  carriage,  that 
they  might  not  get  wet ;  but,  happily,  all  went  well  this  time. 

When,  late  in  the  day,  we  had  left  the  little  town  of  Medina 
behind  us,  and  were  approaching  Cerona,  the  high  road 
seemed  more  of  a  thoroughfare,  and  became  more  and  more 
lively.  One  might  have  fancied  that  it  was  a  festival  day  in 
the  town,  or  at  least  market  day.  Picturesque  dresses,  good- 
1  ooking  people  we  saw ;  the  females  gayly  laughing  and  chat- 
ting ;  the  men,  in  many-colored  mantas,  riding  on  mules,  and 
smoking  their  paper  cigars,  which  they  well  knew  themselves 
how  to  roll  up.  We  entered  the  town  by  a  tremendously  long 
bridge,  which  was  so  narrow  that  only  one  carriage  at  a  time 
could  cross  it ;  therefore  there  was  much  backing  and  fuss 
among  the  meeting  carriages  :  the  well-packed  diligence  seemed 
to  be  respected,  however,  for  all  other  conveyances  drew  aside 


8  IN  SPAIN. 

for  it,  and  even  in  the  long,  confined  streets,  advancing  car- 
riages and  carts  were  warned  out  of  its  way. 

We  soon  reached  our  destination,  and  quitted  the  pinched- 
up,  dust-receiving  diligence  for  the  railway's  flight,  the  modern 
times'  magic  speed,  which  was  again  to  begin  here.  Yes,  it 
really  seemed  witchcraft  to  many  an  old  Senora,  who  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  before  placing  their  feet  on  the  steps  of 
the  carriages,  and  crossed  themselves  again  before  they  took 
their  seats  in  •  this  demoniacal  conveyance,  which  travelled 
without  horses. 

How  pleasant  it  was  to  sit  comfortably  in  one  of  these  rail- 
way carriages !  The  seats  were  so  soft,  one  could  stretch 
one's  legs,  and  had  room  to  draw  one's  breath.  The  railroad 
was  •  quite  a  novelty  here ;  therefore  there  was  a  crowd  of 
people  at  the  station,  and  among  them  was  a  drunken  man 
with  a  handsome  new  umbrella.  He  wished  to  go  by  the. 
train,  but  he  was  not  allowed,  in  the  situation  in  which  he  was, 
and  the  gens-d'armes  had  to  drag  him  away  from  c  ne  of  the 
carriages,  which  he  insisted  on  entering  :  he  became  furious  at 
this,  and  as  he  could  not  thrash  the  soldiers,  he  vented  his 
anger  on  his  new  umbrella,  flung  it  against  the  stones,  broke  it, 
tore  it,  and  quite  destroyed  it. 

A  number  of  old  and  young  priests  came  into  our  carriage, 
and  others  ;  they  were  all  smoking  paper  cigars.  The  signal 
whistle  was  heard,  the  old  ladies  crossed  themselves,  and  we 
were  off.  The  Pyrenees  lay  behind  us,  a  glimpse  of  green 
woods  was  before  us,  and  this  glimpse  expanded  as  the  land- 
scape became  more  and  more  flat ;  splendid  pine-trees  lifted  up 
their  evergreen  tops,  and  the  land  looked  like  a  well-wooded 
park  all  the  way  to  the  Mediterranean.  We  neared  the  sea 
about  sunset ;  it  lay  before  us,  a  blue  and  endless  expanse  ;  large 
.vaves  were  dashing  up  the  sands  close  to  the  railway,  and  when 
the  moon  arose  it  hung  like  a  clear,  beaming  light  in  the 
transparent  southern  atmosphere. 

How  charming  it  is  to  traverse  thus  a  land  one  has  longed 
to  behold,  to  skirt  thus  the  ever-rolling  sea,  in  the  bright 
moonshine  !  Ah  !  how  can  one  find  words  or  music  to  express 
such  delight !  As  to  me,  I  could  only  breathe  in  my  own 
heart  a  silent  hymn  of  praise  —  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving  to 
God. 


ENTRANCE  INTO  SPAIN.  9 

It  was  on  the  seventh  of  September  that,  as  a  child,  I  first 
entered  Copenhagen ;  it  was  on  the  seventh  of  September, 
many  years  afterward,  I  first  set  foot  in  Italy ;  and  now,  on 
the  same  day  and  month,  Spain  opened  upon  me.  It  was 
strange,  but  chance,  as  it  is  called,  so  willed  it.  I  had  been 
detained  a  day  at  Lyons,  waiting  for  my  luggage,  which  had 
gone  astray  on  the  railroad ;  at  Perpignan  I  had  to  wait  two 
days,  in  order  to  obtain  a  place  in  the  coupe  of  the  diligence, 
and  so  my  seventh  of  September  still  held  good. 

I  was  in  a  foreign  land,  yet  I  felt  myself  at  home  :  it  was  the 
sea  which  caused  that  home  feeling  —  the  glorious  sea !  It 
rolled  up  from  the  coast  of  Africa  with  its  swelling  waves, 
like  the  German  Ocean  on  the  coast  of  Jutland,  Its  bluish-green 
waves  reminding  me  of  a  summer  evening  under  the  rocks  of 
Moen. 

Station  followed  station  ;  all  the  carriages  filled  as  we  went 
on,  and  it  was  past  ten  o'clock  at  night  before  we  reached 
Barcelona.  The  wooden  shed  at  the  stopping-place  was 
>  crammed  with  people,  more  than  one  half  of  whom  had  nothing 
to  do  there.  Heavy  trunks,  light  boxes,  and  carpet-bags  were 
all  thrown  out  together.  The  old  custom,  which  so  long  pre- 
vailed among  ourselves  at  home,  that,  at  every  town  where 
there  was  a  stoppage,  it  was  necessary  to  look  after  one's 
luggage,  was  in  practice  here  in  Spain.  There  was  a  crowd,  a 
crush,  a  squeeze ;  outside  there  were  omnibuses  enough,  some 
close  ta  the  passage  out,  some  farther  off  behind  the  wooden 
building.  Every  vehicle  had  its  porters  ;  one  seized  a  trunk, 
another  a  carpet-bag,  and  rushed  off  with  them  to  their  re- 
spective carriages,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  see  if  people's 
goods  were  gathered  together.  There  was  a  screaming  and 
an  uproar ;  boxes  and  all  manner  of  baggage  were  being  car- 
ried off  to  various  conveyances,  while  the  owners  were  at- 
tempted to  be  stuffed  into  some  other  omnibus,  although  each 
omnibus  was  going  a  different  way ;  people  had  literally  to 
fight  for  their  own  luggage ;  things  got  battered  about  and 
almost  destroyed  —  it  was  like  a  regular  scene  of  pillage. 
Luckily  for  me,  I  had  a  Danish  friend,  Herr  Schierbeck,  resid- 
ing at  Barcelona,  and  he  helped  us  through  this  turmoil  ol 


IO  IN  SPAIN. 

arrival,  insisted  on  our  baggage  being  safely  placed  on  the 
outside  6f  a  carriage,  into  which  he  saw  Collin  and  myself: 
but  it  was  really  a  work  of  violence  to  achieve  this,  andit  is 
difficult  to  understand  how  none  of  our  belongings,  indeed 
how  we  ourselves,  were  not  lost  in  the  midst  of  all  this  con- 
fusion, uproar,  and  tumult. 

We  went  pretty  fast  in  our  lumbering,  creaking  vehicle. 
The  gas  lamps  were  brilliant.  We  passed  through  wide  streets, 
with  buildings  like  palaces,  to  the  crowded  promenade  "  La 
Rambla ; "  the  shops  were  brilliantly  lighted,  all  was  bustle 
and  life.  We  betook  ourselves  to  the  hotel  "  Fonda  del  Oriente" 
where  two  rooms  with  alcoves  and  balconies,  and  with  a  good 
supper  awaiting  us,  had  been  bespoken  for  us.  Our  friends 
left  us  to  take  some  repose  as  well  as  food,  and  we  found 
ourselves  very  comfortable. 

The  door  leading  to  the  balcony  stood  open  ;  there  weie 
gayety  and  animation  in  the  broad  street  below  us,  with  its 
walks  bordered  by  rows  of  trees.  The  air  was  clear  and 
delicious,  the  skies  were  of  the  softest  blue,  and  the  moon 
sailed  like  a  globe  of  light  through  space  which  seemed  to 
extend  high  above  eve,n  it.  From  the  adjacent  streets  came 
the  pleasant,  lively  sound  of  castanets.  I  could  not  go  to 
sleep,  although  I  was  anxious  to  do  so,  in  order  that  I  might 
rise  very  early  to  see  by  daylight  this,  to  me,  foreign  town  — 
Barcelona,  the  capital  of  Catalonia. 


CHAPTER  II. 

BARCELONA. 

EARLY  in  the  morning  I  was  awoke  by  music ;  a  regi- 
ment of  soldiers,  stretching  far  and  wide,  were  march- 
ing towards  La  Rambla.  I  was  soon  down,  and  in  the  long 
promenade  which  divides  the  town  into  two  parts  from  Puerta 
del  Mar,  from  the  terraced  walk  along  the  harbor,  to  Puerta 
Isabel  Segunda,  beyond  which  the  station  for  Pamplona  lies. 
It  was  not  the  hour  for  promenading,  it  was  the  early  business 
time.  There  were  people  from  the  town  and  people  from  the 
country,  hurrying  along ;  clerks  and  shopkeepers'  assistants 
on  foot,  peasants  on  their  mules ;  light  carts  empty,  wagons 
'  and  omnibuses  :  noise  and  clamor,  cracking  of  whips,  tinkling 
of  the  bells  and  brass  ornaments  which  adorned  the  horses 
and  the  mules ;  all  mingling,  crying,  making  a  noise  together : 
it  was  evident  that  one  was  in  a  large  town.  Handsome, 
glittering  cafes  stood  invitingly  there,  and  the  tables  outside 
of  them  were  already  all  filled.  Smart  barbers'  shops,  with 
their  doors  standing  wide  open,  were  placed  side  by  side  with 
the  cafe's ;  in  them  soaping,  shaving,  and  hair-dressing  were 
going  on.  Wooden  booths  with  oranges,  pumpkins,  and  mel- 
ons, projected  a  little  farther  out  on  the  foot-paths  here,  where 
now  a  house,  now  a  church  wall,  was  hung  with  farthing  pic- 
tures, stories  of  robbers,  songs,  and  stanzas,  "  published  this 
year."  There  was  much  to  be  seen.  Where  was  I  to  begin, 
and  where  tcfend,  on  Rambla,  the  Boulevard  of  Barcelona? 

When,  last  year,  I  first  visited  Turin,  I  perceived  that  I  was 
in  the  Paris  of  Italy  ;  here  it  struck  me  that  Barcelona  is  the 
Paris  of  Spain.  There  is  quite  a  French  air  about  the  place. 
One  of  the  nearest  narrow  side  streets  was  crowded  with 
people  ;  there  were  no  end  of  shops  in  it,  with  various  goods  — 


12  IN  SPAIN. 

cloaks,  mantillas,  fans,  bright-colored  ribbons,  alluring  to  the 
eyes  and  attracting  purchasers ;  there  I  wandered  about  wher- 
ever chance  led  me.  As  I  pursued  my  way,  I  found  the  side 
and  back  streets  still  more  narrow,  the  houses  apparently 
more  adverse  to  light ;  windows  did  not  seem  in  request ;  the 
walls  were  thick,  and  there  were  awnings  over  the  courts.  I 
now  reached  a  small  square ;  a  trumpet  was  sounding,  and 
people  were  crowding  together.  Some  jugglers,  equipped  in 
knitted  vests,  with  party-colored  swimming  small-clothes,  and 
carrying  with  them  the  implements  of  their  profession,  were 
preparing  to  exhibit  on  a  carpet  spread  over  the  pavement,  for 
they  seemed  to  wish  to  avoid  the  middle  of  the  street.  A  little 
dark-eyed  child,  a  mignon  of  the  Spanish  land,  danced  and 
played  the  tambourine,  let  itself  be  tumbled  head  over  heels, 
and  made  a  kind  of  lump  of,  by  its  half-naked  papa.  In  order 
to  see  better  what  was  going  on,  I  had  ascended  a  few  steps 
of  the  entrance  to  an  old  dwelling,  with  a  single  large  window 
in  the  Moorish  style ;  two  horseshoe-formed  arches  were  sup- 
ported by  slender  marble  pillars ;  behind  me  was  a  door  half 
open.  I  looked  in,  and  saw  a  great  geranium  hedge  growing 
round  a  dry,  dusty  fountain.  An  enormous  vine  shaded  one 
half  the  place,  which  seemed  deserted  and  left  to  decay  ;  the 
wooden  shutters  hung  as  if  ready  to  fall  from  the  one  hinge 
which  supported  each  in  their  loose  frames :  within,  all  appeared 
as  if  nothing  dwelt  there  but  bats  in  the  twilight  gloom. 

I  proceeded  farther  on,  and  entered  a  street,  still  narrow, 
and  swarming  with  still  more  people  than  those  I  had  already 
traversed.  It  was  a  street  that  led  to  a  church.  Here,  hid 
away  among  high  houses,  stands  the  Cathedral  of  Barcelona : 
without  any  effect,  without  any  magnificence,  it  might  easily 
be  passed  by  unheeded  ;  as,  like  many  remarkable  personages, 
one  requires  to  have  one's  attention  drawn  to  them  in  order  to 
observe  them.  The  crowd  pressed  on  me,  and  carried  me 
through  the  little  gate  into  the  open  arcade,  which,  with  some 
others,  formed  the  approaches  to  the  cathedral,  and  inclosed 
a  grove  of  orange-trees,  planted  where  once  had  stood  a 
mosque.  Even  now  water  was  splashing  in  the  large  marble 
basins,  wherein  the  Moslems  used  to  wash  their  faces  be- 
fore and  after  prayers. 


BARCELONA.  1 3 

The  little  bronze  statue  here,  of  a  knight  on  horseback,  is 
charming ;  it  stands  alone  on  a  metal  reed  out  in  the  basin, 
and  the  water  sparkles  behind  and  before  the  horse.  Close 
by,  gold  fishes  are  swimming  among  juicy  aquatic  plants  ;  and 
behind  high  gratings,  geese  are  also  floating  about.  I  ought 
perhar  s  to  have  said  swans,  but  one  must  stick  to  the  truth  if 
one  wishes  to  be  original  as  a  writer  of  travels. 

The  horseman  of  the  fountain  and  the  living  geese  were 
not  much  in  accordance  with  devotion  ;  but  there  was  a  great 
deal  that  was  ecclesiastical  to  outweigh  these  non-church  ad- 
juncts to  the  place.  Before  the  altars  in  the  portico,  people 
were  kneeling  devoutly  ;  and  from  the  church's  large  open 
door  issued  the  perfume  of  incense,  the  sound  of  the  organ, 
and  the  choral  chant.  I  passed  under  the  lofty-vaulted  roof; 
here  were  earnestness  and  grandeur ;  but  God's  sun  could  not 
penetrate  through  the  painted  windows  ;  and  a  deep  twilight,  in- 
creased by  the  smoke  of  the  incense,  brooded  therein,  and  my 
thoughts  of  the  Almighty  felt  depressed  and  weighed  down.  I 
longed  for  the  open  court  outside  the  cathedral,  where  heaven 
'  was  the  roof — where  the  sunbeams  played  among  the  orange- 
trees,  and  on  the  murmuring  water ;  without,  where  pious  per- 
sons prayed  on  bended  knees.  There  the  organ's  sweet,  full 
tones  bore  my  thoughts  to  the  Lord  of  all.  This  was  my  first 
visit  to  a  Spanish  church. 

.  On  leaving  the  cathedral,  I  proceeded  through  narrow 
streets  to  one  extremely  confined,  but  resplendent  with  gold  and 
silver.  In  Barcelona,  and  in  many  Spanish  towns,  the  arrange- 
ment prevalent  in  the  Middle  Ages  still  exists,  namely,  that  the 
different  trades  —  such  as  shoemakers,  workers  in  metal,  for 
instance  —  had  their  own  respective  streets,  where  alone  their 
goods  were  sold.  I  went  into  the  goldsmiths'  street ;  it  was 
rilled  with  shops  glittering  with  gold  and  splendid  ornaments. 

In  another  street  they  were  pulling  down  a  large,  very  high 
house.  The  stone  staircase  hung  suspended  by  the  side  of 
the  wall,  through  several  stories,  and  a  wide  well  with  strange 
looking  rings  protruded  betwixt  the  rubbish  and  the  stones ; 
it  had  been  the  abode  of  the  principal  inquisitor,  who  now  no 
longer  held  his  sway.  The  inquisition  has  long  since  vanished 
here,  as  nowadavs  have  the  monks,  whose  monasteries  are 
deserted. 


14  IN  SPAIN. 

From  the  open  square,  where  stand  the  queen's  palace  and 
the  pretty  buildings  with  porticoes,  you  pass  to  the  terrace 
promenade  along  the  harbor.  The  view  here  is  grand  and  ex- 
tensive. You  see  the  ancient  MONS  Jovis ;  the  eye  can  fol- 
low the  golden  zigzag  stripe  of  road  to  the  Fort  Monjuich,  that 
stands  out  so  proudly,  hewn  from  and  raised  on  the  rock :  you 
behold  the  open  sea,  the  numerous  ships  in  the  harbor,  the  en- 
tire suburb,  Barcelonetta,  and  the  crowds  in  all  directions. 

The  streets  are  at  right  angles,  long,  and  have  but  poor- 
looking,  low  houses.  Booths  with  articles  of  clothing,  counters 
with  eatables,  people  pushing  and  scrambling  around  them  ; 
carriers'  carts,  droskies,  and  mules  crowded  together ;  half- 
grown  boys  smoking  their  cigars  ;  workmen,  sailors,  peasants, 
and  all  manner  of  townsfolk,  mingled  here  in  dust  and  sun- 
shine. It  is  impossible  to  avoid  the  crowd  ;  but,  if  you  like, 
you  can  have  a  refreshing  bath,  for  the  bathing-houses  lie  on 
the  beach  close  by. 

Though  the  weather  and  the  water  were  still  warm,  they 
were  already  beginning  to  take  down  the  large  wooden  shed, 
and  there  only  now  remained  a  sort  of  screening  wooden  in- 
closure,  a  boarding  down  from  the  road  ;  and  it  was  therefore 
necessary  to  wade  through  the  deep  sand  before  reaching  the 
water  with  its  rolling  waves,  and  obtaining  a  bath.  But  how 
salt,  how  refreshing  it  was  !  You  emerged  from  it  as  if  re- 
newed in  youth,  and  you  come  with  a  young  man's  appetite  to 
the  hotel,  where  an  abundant  and  excellent  repast  awaits  you. 
One  might  have  thought  that  the  worthy  host  had  determined 
to  prove  that  it  was  a  very  untruthful  assertion,  that  in  Spain 
they  were  not  adepts  at  good  cookery. 

Early  in  the  evening  we  repaired  to  the  fashionable  prom- 
enade—  the  Rambla.  It  was  filled  with  gay  company;  the 
gentlemen  had  their  hair  befrizzled  and  becurled  ;  they  were 
vastly  elegant,  and  all  puffing  their  cigars.  One  of  them,  who 
had  an  eye-glass  stuck  in  his  eye,  looked  as  if  he  had  been  cut 
out  of  a  Paris  "  Journal  des  Modes."  Most  of  the  ladies  wore 
the  very  becoming  Spanish  mantilla,  the  long  black  lace  veil 
hanging  over  the  comb  down  to  the  shoulders  ;  their  delicate 
hands  agitating  with  a  peculiar  grace  the  dark,  spangled  fans. 
Some  few  ladies  sported  French  hats  and  shawls.  People 


BARCELONA.  \  5 

were  sitting  on  both  sides  of  the  promenade  in  rows,  on  the 
stone  seats,  and  chairs  under  the  trees ;  they  sat  out  in  the 
very  streets  with  tables  placed  before  them,  outside  of  the 
cafes.  Every  place  was  filled,  within  and  without. 

In  no  country  have  I  seen  such  splendid  cafe's  as  in  Spain  — 
cafe's  so  beautifully  and  tastefully  decorated.  One  of  the 
prettiest,  situated  in  the  Rambla,  which  my  friends  and  I  daily 
visited,  was  lighted  by  several  hundred  gas  lamps.  The  taste- 
fully painted  roof  was  supported  by  slender,  graceful  pillars ; 
and  the  walls  were  covered  with  good  paintings  and  handsome 
mirrors,  each  worth  about  a  thousand  rigsdalers.  Immedi- 
ately under  the  roof  ran  galleries,  which  led  to  small  apart- 
ments and  billiard-rooms  ;  over  the  garden,  which  was  adorned 
with  fountains  and  beautiful  flowers,  an  awning  was  spread 
during  the  day,  but  removed  in  the  evening,  so  that  the  clear 
blue  skies  could  be  seen.  It  was  often  impossible,  without  or 
within,  above  or  below,  to  find  an  unoccupied  table ;  the 
places  were  constantly  taken.  People  of  the  most  opposite 
classes  were  to  be  seen  here :  elegant  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
military  of  the  higher  and  lower  grades,  peasants  in  velvet 
and  embroidered  mantles  thrown  loosely  over  their  arms.  I 
saw  a  man  of  the  lower  ranks  enter  the  cafd  with  four  little 
girls.  They  gazed  with  curiosity,  almost  with  awe,  at  the 
splendor  and  magnificence  around  them.  A  visit  to  the  cafd 
was,  doubtless,  as  great  an  event  to  them  as  it  is  to  many 
children  for  the  first  time  to  go  to  a  theatre.  Notwith- 
standing the  lively  conversation  going  on  among  the  crowd, 
the  noise  was  never  stunning,  and  one  could  hear  a  solitary 
voice  accompanied  by  a  guitar.  In  all  the  larger  Spanish  cafe's, 
there  sits  the  whole  evening  a  man  with  a  guitar,  playing  one 
piece  of  music  after  the  other,  but  no  one  seems  to  notice 
him ;  it  is  like  a  sound  which  belongs  to  the  extensive  ma- 
chinery. The  Rambla  became  more  and  more  thronged  ; 
the  excessively  long  street  became  transformed  into  a  crowded 
festival  saloon. 

The  usual  social  meetings  at  each  other's  houses  in  family 
life,  are  not  known  here.  Acquaintances  are  formed  on  the 
promenades  on  fine  evenings  ;  people  come  to  the  Rambla  to 
sit  together,  to  speak  to  each  other,  to  be  pleased  with  each 


1 6  £N  SPAIN. 

other ;  to  agree  to  meet  again  the  following  evening.  Intima- 
cies commence  ;  the  young  people  make  assignations ;  but 
until  their  betrothals  are  announced,  they  do  not  visit  at  each 
other's  houses.  Upon  the  Rambla  the  young  man  thus  finds 
his  future  wife. 

The  first  day  in  Barcelona  was  most  agreeable  and  full  of 
variety ;  the  following  days  not  less  so.  There  was  so  much 
new  to  be  seen  —  so  much  that  was  peculiarly  Spanish,  notv 
withstanding  that  French  influence  was  perceptible  in  a  place 
so  near  the  borders. 

During  my  stay  .at  Barcelona,  its  two  largest  theatres,  Prin- 
cipal and  Del  Liceo,  were  closed.  They  were  both  situated  in 
the  Rambla.  The  theatre  Del  Liceo  is  said  to  be  the  largest 
in  all  Spain.  I  saw  it  by  daylight.  The  stage  is  immensely 
wide  and  high.  I  arrived  just  during  the  rehearsal  of  an  op- 
eretta with  high-sounding,  noisy  music  ;  the  pupils  and  chorus- 
singers  of  the  theatre  intended  to  give  the  piece  in  the  even- 
ing at  one  of  the  theatres  in  the  suburbs. 

The  places  for  the  audience  are  roomy  and  tasteful,  the 
boxes  rich  in  gilding,  and  each  has  its  ante-room,  furnished 
with  sofas  and  chairs  covered  with  velvet.  In  the  front  of  the 
stage  is  the  director's  box,  from  which  hidden  telegraphic 
wires  carry  orders  to  the  stage,  to  the  prompter,  to  the  various 
departments.  In  the  vestibule  in  front  of  the  handsome  mar- 
ble staircase  stands  a  bust  of  the  queen.  The  public  green- 
room surpasses  in  splendor  all  that  Paris  can  boast  of  in  that 
portion  of  the  house.  From  the  roof  of  the  balcony  of  the 
theatre  there  is  a  magnificent  view  of  Barcelona  and  the  wide 
expanse  of  sea. 

An  Italian  company  were  performing  at  the  Teatro  del  Circo  ; 
but  there,  as  in  most  of  the  Spanish  theatres,  nothing  was 
given  but  translations  from  French.  Scribe's  name  stood  most 
frequently  on  the  play-bills.  I  also  saw  a  long,  tedious  melo- 
drama, "  The  Dog  of  the  Castle." 

The  owner  of  the  castle  is  killed  during  the  revolution  ;  his 
son  is  driven  forth,  after  having  become  an  idiot  from  a  vio- 
lent blow  on  the  head.  Instinct  leads  him  to  his  home, 
but  none  of  its  former  inmates  are  there  ;  the  very  watch-clog 


BARCELONA.  1 7 

was  killed :  the  house  is  empty,  and  he  who  is  its  rightful 
owner,  now  creeps  into  it,  unwitting  of  its  being  his  own.  In 
vain  his  high  and  distinguished  relatives  have  sought  for  him. 
He  knew  nothing  of  all  this  ;  he  does  not  know  that  a  paper, 
which  from  habit  he  instinctively  conceals  in  his  breast,  could 
procure  for  him  the  whole  domain.  An  adventurer,  who  had 
originally  been  a  hair-dresser,  comes  to  the  neighborhood, 
meets  the  unfortunate  idiot,  reads  his  paper,  and  buys  it  from 
him  for  a  clean,  new  five-franc  note.  This  "person  goes  now 
to  the  castle  as  its  heir  ;  he,  however,  does  not  please  the 
young  girl,  who,  of  the  same  distinguished  family,  was  des- 
tined to  be  his  bride,  and  he  also  betrays  his  ignorance  of 
everything  in  his  pretended  paternal  home.  The  poor  idiot, 
on  the  contrary,  as  soon  as  he  sets  his  foot  within  the  walls  of 
the  castle  is  overwhelmed  with  reminiscences  ;  he  remembers 
from  his  childhood  every  toy  he  used  to  play  with  ;  the  Chi- 
nese mandarins  he  takes  up,  and  makes  them  nod  their  heads 
as  in  days  gone  by ;  also  he  knows,  and  can  show  them  where 
his  father's  small  sword  was  kept;  he  alone  was  aware  of  its 
hiding-place.  The  truth  became  apparent ;  protected  by  the 
chamber-maid,  he  is  restored  to  his  rights,  but  not  to  his  intel- 
lects. 

The  part  of  the  idiot  was  admirably  well  acted  ;  nearly  too 
naturally  —  there  was  so  much  truthfulness  in  the  delineation 
that  it  was  almost  painful  to  sit  it  out.  The  piece  was  well 
got  up,  and  calculated  to  make  ladies  and  children  nervous. 

The  performances  ended  with  a  translation  of  the  well- 
known  vaudeville,  "  A  Gentleman  and  a  Lady." 

The  most  popular  entertainments  in  Spain,  which  seem  to 
be  liked  by  all  classes,  are  bull-fights  ;  every  tolerably  large 
town,  therefore,  has  its  Plaza  de  Toros.  I  believe  the  largest 
is  at  Valencia.  For  nine  months  in  the  year  these  entertain- 
ments are  the  standing  amusments  of  every  Sunday.  We 
were  to  go  the  following  Sunday  at  Barcelona  to  see  a  bull- 
fight ;  there  were  only  to  be  two  young  bulls,  and  not  a  grand 
genuine  fight :  however,  we  were  told  it  would  give  us  an  idea 
of  these  spectacles. 

The  distant  Plaza  de  Toros  was  reached,  either  by  omnibus 


I  8  IN  SPAIN. 

or  a  hired  street  carriage  taken  on  the  Rambla  ;  the  Plaza  it. 
self  was  a  large  circular  stone  building,  not  far  from  the  rail- 
road to  Gerona.  The  extensive  arena  within  is  covered  with 
sand,  and  around  it  is  raised  a  wooden  wall  about  three  ells 
in  height,  behind  which  is  a  long,  open  space,  for  standing 
spectators.  If  the  bull  chooses  to  spring  over  the  barrier  to 
them,  they  have  no  outlet  or  means  of  exit,  and  are  obliged  to 
jump  down  into  the  arena  ;  and  when  the  bull  springs  down 
again  they  must  mount,  as  best  they  can,  to  their  old  places. 
Higher  above  this  corridor,  and  behind  it,  is,  extending  all 
round  the  amphitheatre,  a  stone  gallery  for  the  public,  and 
above  it  again  are  a  couple  of  wooden  galleries  fitted  up  m 
boxes,  with  benches  or  chairs.  We  took  up  our  position  be- 
low, in  order  to  see  the  manners  of  the  commoner  class.  7  he 
sun  was  shining  over  half  the  arena,  spangled  fans  were  vav- 
ing  and  glittering,  and  looked  like  birds  flapping  their  bright 
wings.  The  building  could  contain  about  fifteen  thousand 
persons.  There  were  not  so  many  present  on  this  occasion, 
but  it  was  well  filled. 

We  had  been  previously  told  of  the  freedom  and  license 
which  pervaded  this  place,  and  warned  not  to  attract  observa- 
tion by  our  dress,  else  we  might  be  made  the  butts  of  the  peo- 
ple's rough  humor,  which  might  prompt  them  to  shout  "  Away 
with  your  smart  gloves  !  Away  with  your  white  city  hat !  " 
followed  by  sundry  witticisms.  They  would  not  brook  the 
least  delay  ;  the  noise  increased,  the  people's  will  was  omnip- 
otent, and  hats  and  gloves  had  to  be  taken  off,  whether  agree- 
able to  the  wearers  or  not. 

The  sound  of  the  music  was  fearful  and  deafening  at  the 
moment  we  entered  ;  people  were  roaring  and  screaming ;  it 
was  like  a  boisterous  carnival.  The  gentlemen  threw  flour  over 
each  other  in  the  corners,  and  pelted  each  other  with  pieces 
of  sausages  ;  here  flew  oranges,  there  a  glove  or  an  old  hat, 
all  amidst  merry  uproar,  in  which  the  ladies  took  a  part.  The 
glittering  fans  the  gayly  embroidered  mantles,  and  the  bright 
rays  of  the  sun,  confused  the  eyes  as  the  noise  confused  the 
ears  ;  one  felt  oneself  in  a  perfect  maelstrom  of  vivacity. 

Now  the  trumpet's  blast  sounded  a  fanfare,  one  of  the  gates 
to  the  arena  was  opened,  and  the  bull-fight  cavalcade  entered. 


BARCELONA.  1 9 

First  rode  v.\vo  men  in  black  garments,  with  large  white  shirt 
fronts,  and  staffs  in  their  hands.  They  were  followed,  upon 
old,  meagre-looking  horses,  by  four  Picadores,  well  stuffed  in 
the  whole  of  the  lower  parts,  that  they  might  not  sustain  any 
injury  when  the  bull  rushed  upon  them.  They  each  carried 
a  lance  with  which  to  defend  themselves  ;  but  notwithstanding 
their  stuffing,  they  were  always  very  helpless  if  they  fell  from 
their  horses.  Then  came  half  a  score  Banderilleros,  young, 
handsome,  stage-clad  youths,  equipped  in  velvet  and  gold. 
After  them  appeared,  in  silken  attire,  glittering  in  gold  and 
silver  —  Espada  ;  his  blood-red  cloak  he  carried  thrown  over 
his  arm,  the  well  tempered  sword  with  which  he  was  to  give  the 
animal  its  death-thrust,  he  held  in  his  hand.  The  procession 
was  closed  by  four  mules,  adorned  with  plumes  of  feathers, 
brass  plates,  gay  tassels,  and  tinkling  bells,  which  were,  to  the 
sound  of  music,  at  full  gallop,  to  drag  the  slaughtered  bull  and 
the  dead  horses  out  of  the  arena. 

The  cavalcade  went  round  the  entire  circle,  and  stopped 
before  the  balcony  where  the  highest  magistrate  sat.  One  of 
the  two  darkly  clad  riders  —  I  believe  they  were  called  Algua- 
zils  —  rode  forward  and  asked  permission  to  commence  the 
entertainment ;  the  key  which  opened  the  door  to  the  stable 
where  the  bull  was  confined  was  then  cast  down  to  him.  Im- 
mediately under  a  portion  of  the  theatre  appropriated  to  spec- 
tators the  poor  bulls  had  been  locked  up,  and  had  passed  the 
night  and  the  whole  morning  without  food  or  drink.  They 
had  been  brought  from  the  hills  fastened  to  two  trained  tame 
bulls,  and  led  to  the  town  ;  they  came  willingly,  poor  animals  ! 
to  kill  or  be  killed  in  the  arena.  To-day,  however,  no  bloody 
work  was  to  be  performed  by  them  ;  they  had  been  rendered 
incapable  of  being  dangerous,  for  their  horns  had  been  muffled. 
Only  two  were  destined  to  fall  under  the  stabs  of  the  Espada  : 
to-day,  as  has  been  mentioned,  was  only  a  sort  of  sham  fight, 
in  which  the  real  actors  in  such  scenes  had  no  strong  interest, 
therefore  it  commenced  with  a  comic  representation  —  a  bat- 
tle between  the  Moors  and  the  Spaniards,  in  which,  of  course, 
the  former  played  the  ridiculous  part,  the  Spaniards  the  brave 
and  stout-hearted. 

A  bull  was  let  in :  its  horns  were  so  bound  that  it  could  not 


2O  Iff  SPAIN. 

kill  any  one  ;  the  worst  it  could  do  was  to  break  a  man's  ribs 
There  were  flights  and  springing  aside,  fun  and  laughter. 
Now  came  on  the  bull-fight.  A  very  young  bull  rushed  in, 
then  it  suddenly  stood  still  in  the  field  of  battle.  The  glaring 
sunbeams,  the  moving  crowd,  dazzled  his  eyes  ;  the  wild  up- 
roar, the  trumpet's  blasts,  and  the  shrill  music,  came  upon  him 
so  unexpectedly,  that  he  probably  thought,  like  Jeppe  when  he 
awoke  in  the  Baroness's  bed,  "  What  can  this  be  !  What  can 
this  be  !  "  But  he  did  not  begin  to  weep  like  Jeppe  ;  he  plunged 
his  horns  into  the  sand,  his  backbones  showing  his  strength, 
and  the  sand  was  whirled  up  in  eddies  into  the  air,  but  that 
was  all  he  did.  The  bull  seemed  dismayed  by  all  the  noise 
and  bustle,  and  only  anxious  to  get  away.  In  vain  the  Bander- 
illeros  teased  him  with  their  red  cloaks ;  in  vain  the  Picadores 
brandished  their  lances.  These  they  hardly  dared  use  before 
the  animal  had  attacked  them  ;  this  is  to  be  seen  at  the  more 
perilous  bull-fights,  of  which  we  shall,  by  and  by,  have  more 
to  say,  in  which  the  bull  can  toss  the  horse  and  the  rider  so 
that  they  shall  fall  together,  and  then  the  Banderilleros  must 
take  care  to  drive  the  furious  animal  to  another  part  of  the 
arena,  until  the  horse  and  his  rider  have  had  time  to  arise  to 
another  conflict.  One  eye  of  the  horse  is  bound  up ;  that  is 
done  that  he  may  not  have  a  full  view  of  his  adversary,  and 
become  frightened.  At  the  first  encounter  the  bull  often  drives 
his  pointed  horn  into  the  horse  so  that  the  entrails  begin  to 
well  out ;  they  are  pushed  in  again  ;  the  gash  is  sewed  up, 
and  the  same  animal  can,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  minutes, 
carry  his  rider.  On  this  occasion,  however,  the  bull  was  not 
willing  to  fight,  and  a  thousand  voices  cried,  "  El  ferro  !  " 

The  Banderilleros  came  with  large  arrows,  ornamented  with 
waving  ribbons,  and  squibs  ;  and  when  the  bull  rushed  upon 
them,  they  sprang  aside,  and  with  equal  grace  and  agility  they 
contrived  to  plunge  each  arrow  into  the  neck  of  the  animal : 
the  squib  exploded,  the  arrow  buzzed,  the  poor  bull  became 
half  mad,  and  in  vain  shook  his  head  and  his  neck  ;  the  blood 
flowed  from  his  wounds.  Then  came  Espada  to  give  the 
death-blow,  but  on  an  appointed  place  in  the  neck  was  the 
weapon  only  to  enter.  It  was  several  times  either  aimed  at  a 
wrong  place,  or  the  thrust  was  given  too  lightly,  and  the  bull 


BARCELONA.  21 

ran  about  with  the  sword  sticking  in  his  neck  ;  another  thrust 
followed,  and  blood  flowed  from  the  animal's  mouth ;  the  pub- 
lic hissed  the  awkward  Espada.  At  length  the  weapon 
entered  into  the  vulnerable  spot ;  and  in  an  instant  the  bull 
sank  on  the  ground,  and  lay  there  like  a  clod,  while  a  loud 
"  viva  "  rang  from  a  thousand  voices,  mingling  with  the  sound 
of  the  trumpets  and  the  kettle-drums.  The  mules  with  their 
bells,  their  plumes  of  feathers,  and  their  flags,  galloped  furi- 
ously round  the  arena,  dragging  the  slaughtered  animal  after 
them  ;  the  blood  it  had  shed  was  concealed  by  fresh  sand ; 
and  a  new  bull,  about  as  young  as  the  first,  was  ushered  in, 
after  having  been  on  his  entrance  excited  and  provoked  by  a 
thrust  from  a  sharp  iron  spike.  This  fresh  bull  was,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  affray,  more  bold  than  the  former  one, 
but  he  also  soon  became  terrified.  The  spectators  demanded 
that  fire  should  be  used  against  him  ;  the  squib  arrows  were 
then  shot  into  his  neck,  and  after  a  short  battle  he  fell  be- 
neath the  Espada's  sword. 

"  Do  not  look  upon  this  as  a  real  Spanish  bull-fight,"  said 
our  neighbors  to  us  ;  "  this  is  mere  child's  play,  mere  fun  !  " 
And  with  fun  the  whole  affair  ended.  The  public  were  al- 
lowed, as  many  as  pleased,  to  spring  over  the  barriers  into 
the  arena ;  old  people  and  young  people  took  a  part  in  this 
amusement ;  two  bulls  with  horns  well  wrapped  round,  -were 
let  in.  There  was  a  rushing  and  springing  about ;  even  the 
bulls  joined  the  public  in  vaulting  over  the  first  barrier  among 
the  spectators  who  still  remained  there  ;  and  there  were  roars 
of  laughter,  shouts  and  loud  hurrahs,  until  the  Empressario, 
the  manager  of  that  day's  bull-fight,  found  that  there  was 
enough  of  this  kind  of  sport,  and  introduced  the  two  tame 
bulls,  who  •were  immediately  followed  by  the  two  others  back 
to  their  stalls.  Not  a  single  horse  had  been  killed  ;  blood  had 
only  flowed  from  two  bulls  ;  that  was  considered  nothing,  but 
we  had  seen  all  the  usual  proceedings,  and  witnessed  how  the 
excitement  of  the  people  was  worked  up  into  passionate  feel- 
ings. 

It  was  here,  in  this  arena,  in  1833,  that  the  revolutionary 
movement  in  Barcelona  broke  out,  after  they  had  commenced 
at  Saragossa  to  murder  the  monks  and  burn  the  monasteries. 


22  IN  SPAIN. 

The  mass  of  the  populace  in  the  arena  fired  upon  the  soldiers  ; 
these  fired  again  upon  the  people  ;  and  the  agitation  spread 
abroad  with  fiery  destruction  throughout  the  land. 

Near  the  Plaza  de  Toros  is  situated  the  cemetery  of  Barce- 
lona, at  a  short  distance  from  the  open  sea.  Aloes  of  a  great 
height  compose  the  fences,  and  high  walls  encircle  a  town 
inhabited  only  by  the  dead.  A  gate-keeper  and  his  family, 
who  occupy  the  porter's  lodge,  are  the  only  living  creatures 
who  dwell  here.  In  the  inside  of  this  city  of  the  dead  are 
long  lonely  streets,  with  box-like  houses,  of  six  stories  in 
height,  in  which,  side  by  side,  over  and  under  each  other,  are 
built  cells,  in  each  of  which  lies  a  corpse  in  its  coffin.  A  dark 
plate,  with  the  name  and  an  inscription,  is  placed  over  the 
opening.  The  buildings  have  the  appearance  of  warehouses, 
with  doors  upon  doors.  A  large  chapel-formed  tomb  is  the 
cathedral  in  this  city  of  the  dead.  A  grass  plot,  with  dark 
lofty  cypresses,  and  a  single  isolated  monument,  afford  some 
little  variety  to  these  solemn  streets,  where  the  residents  of 
Barcelona,  generation  after  generation,  as  silent,  speechless 
inhabitants,  occupy  their  grave-chambers. 

The  sun's  scorching  rays  were  glaring  on  the  white  walls  ; 
and  all  here  was  so  still,  so  lonely,  one  became  so  sad  that  it 
was  a  relief  to  go  forth  into  the  stir  of  busy  life.  On  leaving 
this  dismal  abode  of  decay  and  corruption,  the  first  sound  we 
heard  appertaining  to  worldly  existence  was  the  whistle  of  the 
railway  ;  the  train  shot  past,  and,  when  its  noise  had  subsided, 
we  heard  the  sound  of  the  waves  rolling  on  the  adjacent 
shore.  Thither  I  repaired. 

A  number  of  fishermen  were  just  at  that  moment  hauling 
their  nets  ashore ;  strange-looking  fishes  —  red,  yellow,  and 
bluish-green  —  were  playing  in  the  nets  ;  naked,  dark-skinned 
children  were  running  about  on  the  sands ;  dirty  women  —  I 
think  they  were  gypsies  —  sat  and  mended  old,  worn-out  gar- 
ments ;  their  hair  was  coal-black,  their  eyes  darker  still ;  the 
younger  ones  wore  large  red  flowers  in  their  hair ;  their  teeth 
was  as  glittering  white  as  those  of  the  Moors.  They  were 
groups  to  be  painted  on  canvas.  The  city  of  the  dead,  on  the 
contrary,  would  have  suited  a  photographer  :  one  picture  of  that 


BARCELONA.  23 

would  be  enough ;  for  from  whatever  side  one  viewed  it,  there 
was  no  change  in  its  character :  these  receptacles  for  the  dead 
stood  in  uniform  and  unbroken  array,  while  cypress-trees,  here 
and  there,  unfolded  what  seemed  to  be  their  mourning  ban- 
ners. 

One  of  the  last  days  that  I  was  in  Barcelona,  it  had  rained 
hard  during  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  it  happened  that  I 
had  to  go  to  the  banker's.  The  water  had  not  run  off  suffi- 
ciently ;  it  was  actually  over  my  galoshes.  I  came  home  com- 
pletely drenched ;  and  while  I  was  changing  my  clothes,  I  was 
informed  that  the  inundation  had  reached  the  Rambla,  and 
that  it  was  increasing.  There  were  screams  and  hurrying  of 
feet.  I  saw  from  our  balcony  that  heaps  of  gravel  and  rub- 
bish were  laid  down  before  the  hotels,  and  that  up  on  either 
side  of  the  more  elevated  promenades,  there  flowed  a  stream 
of  a  yellowish  coffee  color  —  the  paved  part  of  the  Rambla 
was  a  rushing  rising  current.  I  hastened  down.  The  rain  was 
almost  over,  but  its  disastrous  effects  were  increasing ;  I  be- 
held a  terrible  spectacle  —  the  water's  fearful  power. 

Out  among  the  hills  the  rain  had  fallen  in  such  torrents, 
that  the  tearing  mountain  streamlets  had  soon  swollen  the 
little  river  which  runs  parallel  to  the  highway  and  the  railroad. 
At  an  earlier  stage  of  the  inundation  there  had  been  no  outlet 
to  the  sea  —  now  the  raging  water  had  forced  a  passage :  it 
poured  into  what  was  once  the  moat  of  Barcelona,  but  which 
latterly  had  become  choked  up  with  rubbish  and  stones,  it  be- 
ing intended  to  build  upon  it,  as  the  town  was  to  be  enlarged. 
Here  again  the  outlet  was  exhausted ;  the  water  rushed 
on  ;  it  rose  and  flowed  over  every  obstacle  ;  the  railway  was 
soon  undei  water ;  the  highway  was  buried  under  the  over- 
whelming flood  ;  the  fences  were  broken  down,  trees  and  plants 
uprooted,  by  the  impetuous  waters,  which  rushed  in  through  the 
gate  of  the  town,  and  foamed  like  a  mill-dam,  darkish  yellow 
in  color,  on  both  sides  of  the  walk  ;  the  flood  swept  off  with  it 
wooden  booths,  goods,  barrels,  carts,  everything  that  it  found 
in  its  way ;  pumpkins,  oranges,  tables,  and  benches,  sailed 
away ;  even  an  unharnessed  wagon,  which  was  filled  with  china 
and  crockery  ware,  was  carried  off  to  a  considerable  distance 


24  IN  SPAIN. 

by  the  rapid  stream.  In  the  shops  themselves  people  were  up 
nearly  to  their  waists  in  water ;  the  strongest  among  them 
stretched  cords  from  the  shops  to  the  trees  on  the  higher  parts 
of  the  Rambla,  that  the  females  might  hold  on  by  these  while 
they  were  passing  through  the  raging  torrent.  I  saw,  however, 
one  woman  carried  away  by  it ;  but  two  young  men  dashed 
after  her,  and  she  was  brought  back  to  dry  land  in  a  state  of 
insensibility.  There  were  shrieks  and  lamentations,  and  similar 
scenes  took  place  in  the  adjacent  narrow  streets  ;  the  inunda- 
tion forced  its  way,  dashing  over  everything,  surging  into  lofty 
billows,  and  flowing  into  the  lower  stories  of  the  houses.  Shut- 
ters were  put  up,  and  doors  were  fastened  to  try  and  keep  out 
the  water,  but  not  always  with  success.  Some  portion  of  the 
under  stonework  of  the  bridge  was  removed,  that  the  water  might 
find  an  exit  that  way ;  but  this  did  very  little  good ;  it  became, 
in  fact,  the  cause  of  great  evil.  I  heard,  some  time  afterwards, 
that  several,  people  were  carried  off  by  this  eddy,  and  lost  in  the 
depths  below.  Never  have  I  beheld  the  great  power  of  water 
so  fearfully  evinced  ;  it  was  really  terrible.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  be  seen  but  people  flying  from  the  rising  flood  ;  nothing 
to  be  heard  but  wailing  and  lamentation.  The  balconies  and 
the  roofs  were  filled  and  covered  with  human  beings.  On  the 
streets  trees  and  booths  were  sailing  along  ;  the  gens  d'armes 
were  exceedingly  busy  in  trying  to  keep  order.  At  length  the 
inundation  seemed  to  be  subsiding.  It  was  said  that  in  the 
church  on  the  Rambla,  the  priests,  up  to  their  waists  in  water, 
were  singing  masses. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  or  so  the  fury  of  the  torrent  de- 
creased ;  the  water  sank.  People  were  making  their  way  into 
the  side  streets,  to  see  the  desolation  there.  I  followed  them 
through  a  thick,  yellow  mud,  which  was  exceedingly  slippery. 
Water  was  pouring  from  the  windows  and  the  doors  ;  it  was 
dirty,  and  smelled  shockingly.  At  length  I  reached  the  resi- 
dence of  Dr.  Schierbeck  which  was  at  some  distance ;  he  had 
no  knowledge  of  the  inundation  which  had  just  taken  place. 
In  the  many  years  during  which  he  had  resided  at  Barcelona, 
the  rain  had  often  caused  the  mountain  streams  and  the  river 
to  overflow,  but  never  to  the  extent  of  the  impetuous  torrent 
which  had  now  occasioned  so  much  mischief,  and  so  much 


BARCELONA. 


25 


dismay.  As  we  again  threaded  our  way  through  the  streets, 
we  were  disgusted  with  the  filthy  mud  which  the  water  had 
deposited  in  them,  which  looked  like  the  nasty  refuse  of 
sewers.  The  Rambla  was  strewed  with  overturned  booths, 
tables,  carriages,  and  carts.  Outside  of  the  gate  the  work  of 
destruction  was  still  more  prominent.  The  road  was  quite 
cut  up  in  many  places ;  the  waters  rushed  down,  and  formed 
cataract  upon  cataract. 

Carriages  with  people  from  the  country  were  drawn  up  in 
ranks,  the  passengers  were  obliged  to  come  out  if  they  wished 
to  enter  the  town.  Large  joists  of  wood  from  a  neighboring 
timber-yard  were  strewed  all  about,  as  if  cast  by  some  unseen 
mischievous  agents,  playing  at  a  game  of  chance.  Passing 
along  the  principal  highways,  clambering  over  prostrate  trees 
and  other  impediments,  we  reached  at  length  the  railway  sta- 
tion, which  looked  like  a  dwelling  of  beavers,  half  in  the  water, 
half  on  land.  There  was  quite  a  lake  under  the  roof;  the 
yellow  water  for  a  long  way  concealed  the  metal  grooves  of  the 
railroad.  Our  return  was  quite  as  difficult  as  our  walk  from 
town  had  been.  We  fell  into  holes,  and  crept  up  on  the  wet 
earth ;  roads  and  paths  wcie  cut  up  by  new  streams  j  we  had 
to  wade  through  deep  mud,  and  reached  Barcelona  quite  be- 
spattered with  it. 

Never  before  had  I  any  idea  of  the  power  of  such  a  flood. 
I  thought  "of  Kiihleborn  in  the  tale  of  "  Undine."  I  thought  of 
the  story  which  might  be  told  by  a  little  mountain  streamlet, 
usually  only  a  tiny  rivulet,  shaded  by  aloes  and  cacti,  its 
nymph  being  a  playful  child  ;  but  as  the  little  Spanish  girls  in 
reality  do,  springing  up  at  once  into  young  women,  willful  and 
bold,  repairing  to  the  large  town,  to  visit  it  and  its  population, 
to  look  into  their  houses  and  churches,  and  to  see  them  on  the 
promenade,  where  strangers  always  seek  them :  to-day  I  had 
witnessed  its  entrance. 

I  had  now  been  almost  a  fortnight  at  Barcelona,  and  fe.t 
myself  at  home  in  its  streets  and  lanes.  "  Now  to  Valencia  ! " 
I  said  to  myself;  and  the  thought  of  that  lovely  country  was 
as  pleasing  as  Weber's  music.  I  intended  to  go  by  the  dili- 
gence. The  voyage  of  the  steamer  along  the  coast  of  Spain 


26  Iff  SPAIN. 

had  been  described  to  me  as  exceedingly  disagreeable,  the 
vessels  as  dirty,  and  not  at  all  arranged  for  the  convenience  of 
passengers ;  if  the  weather  were  stormy,  it  was  obliged,  with 
great  difficulty,  to  land  the  passengers ;  the  steamer  did  not, 
in  such  a  case,  enter  any  harbor,  but  people  had,  in  the  open 
sea,  to  jump  down  into  the  rocking  boats,  and  the  weather 
might  be  so  bad  that  even  these  might  not  venture  out  to  take 
the  passengers  ashore.  We  were  now  in  the  middle  of  Sep- 
tember ;  the  certainty  of  calm  weather  was  past.  During  the 
last  few  days,  there  had  been  a  strong  wind  blowing ;  and  into 
the  harbor  of  Barcelona  so  rough  a  sea  had  been  rolling,  that 
the  waves  had  dashed  up  against  the  walls. 

In  going  by  the  diligence,  one  might  see  something  of  the 
country,  and  therefore  that  mode  of  conveyance  appeared  to 
me  the  best ;  but  my  countryman,  Schierbeck,  and  every  one 
else  to  whom  I  spoke  on  the  subject,  advised  me  not  to  under- 
take the  land  transit.  It  was  a  long,  fatiguing  journey,  they 
said  ;  I  should  be  suffocated  with  heat  in  the  over-crowded  dili- 
gence ;  the  roads  were  in  bad  condition  ;  the  conveyances  often 
stopped  at  places  where  was  no  sign  of  an  inn  —  perhaps  not 
a  roof  under  which  to  seek  shelter.  The  diligence  from  Mad- 
rid was  two  days  behind  its  time  ;  I  knew  by  experience  how 
few  bridges  there  were,  and  how  rivers  had  to  be  passed 
through ;  I  had  just  witnessed  •  at  Barcelona  the  power  of  de- 
struction which  the  mountain  streams  might  acquire :  to  go  by 
the  diligence  was,  therefore,  for  the  time  being,  to  expose  one's 
self  to  the  greatest  inconvenience,  if  not  to  absolute  danger  of 
life.  The  road  between  Barcelona  and  Valencia  lay  through  a 
certain  place  where  the  swollen  mountain  streams  often  caused 
disasters ;  it  was  only  a  few  years  before  that  an  over-laden 
diligence  was  lost  there,  and  it  was  supposed  that  the  rush  of 
waters  had  carried  it  out  to  the  open  sea  —  the  Mediterranean. 

Even  until  a  few  hours  before  the  departure  of  the  steamer 
I  was  balancing  in  my  own  mind  whether  I  should  go  by  it,  or 
undertake  the  land  journey.  Every  one  advised  the  sea  trip  ; 
the  steamer  Catalan,  which  was  about  to  start,  was  reckoned 
one  of  the  best  and  speediest ;  the  machinery  was  first-rate,  by 
the  captain's  account :  so  I  determined  on  the  voyage.  Dr. 
Schierbeck,  and  our  friend  Buckheisler,  from  Hamburg,  accom- 


BARCELONA.  27 

panied  us  on  board ;  it  was  past  midday  before  the  anchor  was 
raised,  and,  rocking  heavily,  the  steamer  bore  away  for  the  open 
sea. 

For  a  considerable  way  outside  the  harbor,  the  water  was 
tinged  with  a  yellow  coffee-color,  from  the  inundation  which 
had  taken  place  on  shore ;  then  suddenly  it  resumed  the  clear 
greenish-blue  tint  of  the  sea.  Barcelona  lay  stretched  out  to 
its  full  extent  in  the  bright,  beautiful  sunshine ;  the  fort  Mon- 
juich,  with  its  yellow  zigzag,  stony  path,  stood  still  more  for- 
ward ;  the  hills  looked  higher,  and  over  them  all  towered  one 
still  more  lofty,  strangely  jagged  like  the  fins  of  a  fish  —  it  was 
the  holy  Mount  Serrat,  whence  Loyola  came. 


CHAPTER  III. 

VALENCIA. 

I  LOVE  the  sea ! "  that  is  to  say,  when  I  am  on  it,  and  it  is 
calm  —  a  bright  blue  expanse,  forming  a  mirror,  in  which 
the  lofty  heavens  above  are  reflected.  I  love  it  "  in  its  wildest 
storm  "  —  that  is  to  say,  I  must  be  standing  on  terra  firma  to 
love  it  in  this  guise,  otherwise  I  should  be  excessively  annoyed 
by  it.  It  was  not  agitated  by  a  storm  now,  but  it  was  neither 
bright  nor  smooth  ;  the  wind  was  rising  into  a  breeze  ;  the  ship 
rolled,  and  I  could  not  venture  down  to  the  cabin  where  din- 
ner was  served.  My  travelling  companion,  Collin,  got  on 
better :  he  was  even  able,  after  having  eaten  his  dinner,  to  be- 
take himself  to  his  hammock  and  smoke  a  cigar.  I  sat  on 
deck  —  sat  as  if  I  had  been  in  a  swing,  and  I  do  not  like  that 
movement ;  but  there  are  many  things  one  does  not  like  to 
which  one  must  submit. 

Out  on  the  horizon  clouds  were  gathering ;  they  assumed  the 
forms  of  mountains,  with  sharp  outlines,  and  took,  at  sunset,  a 
blended  red  and  yellow  color.  Soon  a  single  star  was  seen 
to  twinkle  in  the  sky,  then  more  and  more  came  glittering  forth 
in  the  clear  air ;  it  was  a  fine  evening :  the  whole  of  the  rich, 
hilly  coast  was  to  be  seen,  contrasting  its  dark-blue  tints  with 
the  luminous  sea.  I  did  not  sit  alone  ;  a  young  German  from 
Mannheim  was  on  board ;  he  was  going  to  Madrid,  and  had 
chosen  the  voyage  to  Valencia,  as  the  railroad  was  destroyed 
between  Barcelona  and  Saragossa.  There  was  so  much  youth- 
ful feeling  in  him.  He  was  delighted  with  the  sea,  which  he 
had  never  known  before  —  delighted  with  the  view  of  the 
beautiful  coast ;  he  expressed  his  pleasure  freely  and  naturally  ; 
and  when  he  heard  who  I  was,  for  he  knew  my  works,  I  had 
all  at  once  a  lively  young  travelling  friend,  who  was  kindness 
itself  to  me.  He  was  most  anxious  to  make  me  comfortable 


VALENCIA.  29 

wrapped  his  woolen  shawl  round  my  throat,  and  laid  his  cloak 
over  my  feet,  for  the  wind  was  cold,  and  the  rolling  of  the  vessel 
forbade  my  seeking  my  own  warm  things,  which  had  been  car- 
ried down  to  the  cabin  beneath. 

Sympathy  is  a  wonderful  thing  ;  it  cannot  be  bought  by 
money,  it  cannot  be  obtained  by  the  offer  of  one's  whole 
heart :  it  must  be  a  voluntary  gift ;  it  falls  like  the  manna  that 
fell  from  heaven  in  the  wilderness.  Here,  this  manna  cer- 
tainly fell  ;  whether  it  might  last  for  days,  or  weeks,  or  have  a 
longer  life,  I  could  not  determine  ;  but,  of  course,  its  endur- 
ance was  not  to  be  relied  upon. 

The  wind  began  to  abate,  the  sea  became  calmer ;  and  it 
was  charming  to  look  down  on  the  dark-blue  water.  The 
shining  fishes  glanced  like  gems  ;  they  glanced  like  the  blades 
of  knives  in  the  rays  of  the  sun.  The  silver-white  foam  upon 
the  sea  seemed  to  emit  light ;  the  far-away  clouds  assumed 
shapes  near  the  horizon,  which  looked  as  if  we  had  land  close 
ahead.  The  distant  white-crested  billows  seemed  like  long 
white  structures,  that  appeared  and  vanished.  It  was  past 
'ten  o'clock  before  I  went  down  into  the  cabin,  and  slept  dur- 
ing a  part  of  the  night  watch  :  the  sea  was  tolerably  tran- 
quil. 

At  dawn  of  day  I  was  again  upon  deck.  Thick  rain-clouds 
hung  over  the  sea  toward  the  north.  The  coast  of  Spain  was 
lofty,  naked,  and  wild  ;  the  more  distant  mountains,  dark, 
dreary,  and  deserted  looking ;  but  when  the  sun  arose,  it 
dyed  the  clouds  with  purple  and  gold,  it  spread  a  violet  blue 
tint  over  the  dark  hills,  and  changed  the  sea  —  as  it  were  — 
into  a  blood-colored  fluid,  so  pure,  so  shining,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  we  were  gliding  over  a  watered  silk  carpet ;  and  when 
the  whole  power  of  the  sun  came  out,  and  the  wide  sea  lay  in 
a  dead  calm,  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  sailing  through  fields  of 
air. 

A  number  of  dazzling  white  houses  along  the  shore  an- 
nounced our  approach  to  a  large  town.  On  the  side  of  the 
hill,  the  Roman  town  of  Saguntum  was  pointed  out  to  us  ; 
there  now  only  remain  of  its  enormous  walls,  towers,  and 
amphitheatre,  but  low  ruins,  overgrown  by  a  wilderness  of 


3O  IN  SPAIN. 

cacti.  Murviedro  is  the  name  of  the  town  which  has  been 
raised  over  all  this  ancient  grandeur.  Soldiers  are  quartered 
in  the  fort  above  it.  The  railway  from  Madrid  to  Valencia  is, 
in  its  progress  to  Barcelona,  only  finished  as  far  as  this.  We 
could,  from  the  ship,  see  the  locomotive  with  a  long  veil  of 
steam,  and  long  line  of  carriages  moving  in  close  to  the  sea- 
shore. We  would  soon  reach  Valencia,  for  we  were  now  at 
its  suburb,  the  village  of  Grao,  which  lies  at  the  distance  of 
about  a  half  a  mile  from  the  town  ;  we  could  go  to  it  by  a 
later  train,  or  by  one  of  the  many  "  tartanes,"  that  are  kept 
here  :  these  are  carriages  with  awnings  over  them  ;  they  are 
larger  than  droskies,  and  less  than  our  bread  carts,  but  higher 
than  these,  and  furnished  with  cushions. 

At  the  landing-place  we  were  assailed  by  numbers  of 
ragged,  dark-brown  boys,  and  wild-looking,  dirty  porters,  who 
pushed  each  other  aside,  and,  almost  fighting  their  way  up  to 
us,  tried  to  pounce  on  our  baggage  to  carry  it  to  the  Custom- 
house. But  a  Spanish  fellow-traveller,  with  whom  we  had 
made  acquaintance  on  board  the  steamer,  took  charge  of  us, 
got  our  luggage  packed  into  one  "  tartane,"  ourselves  into  an- 
other, and  sent  us  off  to  Valencia.  Passing  through  a  flat, 
fruitful  country,  that  reminded  us  of  our  Danish  home,  we 
drove  along  a  sheltered  highway,  where  knotted  olive-trees,  as 
if  they  had  been  our  willows,  bent  over  high  reeds  ;  but  the 
reeds  here  were  bamboos.  The  white-washed  cottages  we 
saw  on  our  way  had  roofs  thatched  with  reeds  or  straw,  like 
ours  at  home  ;  only  the  long  embroidered  mats  that  were 
hung  before  the  open  entrances  told  of  a  southern  land. 

Between  the  ruins  of  Saguntum  and  Sierra  di  Santa  Ana, 
the  most  southern  point  of  land  stretches  from  the  stony  hills 
down  toward  the  sea.  "  La  Huerta,"  a  garden,  —  as  the  rich 
fruit-bearing  and  wine-growing  plain  around  Valencia  is  called, 
—  is  an  unusually  well  cultivated  country,  which  from  the 
time  of  the  Moors  has  been  watered  by  a  net-work  of  brick 
inlaid  ditches  or  trenches  ;  deep  wells  are  to  be  seen,  where  a 
horse  turns  the  wheel  that  causes  the  water  to  pass  into  these 
aqueducts  ;  low,  thick  vines  grow  over  the  warm,  reddish 
soil ;  citron  and  apple-trees  form  lovely  groves,  where  slender 
palm-trees  elevate  lofty  screens  against  the  overpowering  sun. 


VALENCIA.  31 

A  massive  bridge,  tne  dried  up  bed  of  a  river,  anc^-nt  walls, 
and  a  city  gate  of  hewn  stone,  were  the  first  we  saw  of  Val- 
encia ;  narrow,  unpaved  streets,  with  awnings  from  house  to 
house,  led  to  a  small  square  where  were  kept  a  couple  of 
empty  diligences,  and  we  were  in  FONDA  DEL  CID.  The 
dark  angular  stairs  and  passages,  the  lofty  but  sparely  fur- 
nished rooms,  the  whole  of  the  arrangements  and  waiting, 
evinced  that  we  were  no  longer  in  the  half  French  Barcelona, 
but  a  good  way  in  Spain.  The  breakfast-table  was  set  out, 
the  dishes  were  good,  the  grapes  were  as  large  as  plums  and 
delicious  in  taste,  the  melons  melted  in  the  mouth  like  snow, 
the  wine  was  strong  and  exhilarating,  and  the  weather  warm 
enough  to  bake  us.  We  felt  the  heat  exceedingly :  even 
though  over  the  open  doors  leading  to  the  balcony  were  hung 
large  mats,  made  of  reeds,  to  keep  out  the  rays  of  the  sun, 
they  still  had  great  power.  People  were  sitting  in  their  bal- 
conies, gasping  for  air,  the  ladies  trying  to  obtain  it  by  the 
use  of  their  fans.  On  each  balcony  sat  a  whole  air-seeking 
family  ;  by  going  out  at  the  window  you  suddenly  found  your- 
'  self  in  society  ;  social  life  flourished  here  on  all  the  walls,  and 
at  every  story.  In  the  square  below,  all  was  silent  and  de- 
serted ;  the  burning  sunbeams  were  glaring  on  it,  and  one 
felt  no  inclination  to  go  down  and  cast  a  shadow. 

The  dinner-bell  was  rung,  and  we  found  the  table  groaning 
under  a  load  of  viands.  Among  these  were  snail-soup. 
There  were  several  plates  with  snails,  like  our  small  ones,  in 
their  shells  ;  it  was  these  especially  that  in  the  brownish  soup 
were  so  repulsive  to  the  appetite  ;  then  followed  cuttle-fish 
steeped  in  oil ;  but  there  were  also  many  excellent  dishes,  fit 
to  eat. 

The  change  from  day  to  evening  was  quite  a  sudden  transi- 
tion. At  one  moment  the  clouds  were  as  red  as  crimson,  in 
the  next  all  this  bright  coloring  had  faded  away,  the  stars 
came  forth,  the  square  below  us  was  plunged  into  darkness. 
In  the  house  opposite  to  us  there  was  a  lantern  shining  like 
the  bright  lamp  over  a  barber's  sign ;  a  young  man  came  out 
playing  on  a  guitar.  He  disappeared  in  a  narrow  street,  but 
the  sound  of  the  guitar,  on  which  he  was  playing  Spanish  airs, 
was  for  some  time  audible  :  but  soon  a  dog  began  to  bark,  then 


32  JJV  SPAIN. 

another ;  and  presently  there  was  nothing  but  barking  over  the 
whole  quarter  —  such  as  might  perhaps  be  heard  at  home  in 
Nyhavn  when  one  cur  commences,  and  all  the  dogs  on  board 
the  different  ships  join  in  the  yelping  and  barking  concert. 
This  was  our  first  day  in  Valencia. 

My  inspection  of  the  town  began  early  the  next  morning. 
The  sun's  rays  were  already  so  scorching,  that  it  would  be 
terribly  warm  during  the  day  I  knew  from  the  experience  of 
the  preceding  day.  We  were  in  the  middle  of  September,  yet 
the  heat  was  almost  unbearable  ;  what  must  it  not  be  in  the 
middle  of  summer  !  It  had  rained  during  the  night ;  the  streets 
were  full  of  little  pools  of  water  and  heaps  of  mud.  The 
square  before  Fonda,  where  also  stood  the  palace  of  the  arch- 
bishop, seemed  basking  in  the  sun.  With  a  wide  jump,  one 
reached  a  small  lane  where  the  cathedral  was  hid  away  among 
houses.  That  hero,  the  Cid,  when  he  had  conquered  Valencia, 
took  from  its  high  towers  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  town  and  its 
surrounding  neighborhood ;  with  the  same  view  almost  all 
travellers  commence  their  survey  of  the  city.  I  preferred  first 
to  make  myself  acquainted  with  the  town,  and  afterwards,  from 
that  elevated  spot,  to  look  down  on  the  places  I  knew. 

I  strolled  through  the  church,  and  came  out  at  a  handsome 
street,  which  led  to  a  large  square  crowded  with  people  on 
foot  and  on  mules.  They  were  mostly  peasants,  powerful 
figures,  in  picturesque  costumes :  they  wore  a  kind  of  panta- 
loons, zuragnelles,  which  reached  only  to  the  bare  knee ; 
leather  sandals  were  laced  round  blue  stockings.  They  wore 
red  belts  and  grass-green  jackets  ;  their  chests  were  naked,  but 
over  their  shoulders  were  flung  the  striped  "  manta  ;  "  a  head- 
dress something  like  a  turban  covered  the  head,  and  over  that 
again  was  the  broad  brimmed  hat :  all  this  looked  extremely 
well.  For  the  rest,  this  tribe  did  not  bear  a  very  respectable 
character.  The  knife,  it  was  said,  was  rather  too  unsparingly 
used  among  them.  In  earlier  times  there  had  always  been 
strife  between  them  and  the  townspeople,  who  seemed  to 
belong  to  another  race,  of  which  fact  their  fair  hair  gave  pre- 
sumptive evidence.  The  frequent  assaults  and  murders  that 
only  a  very  few  years  before  took  place  in  the  town  and  its  im 


VALENCIA. 


33 


mediate  neighborhood,  attributed  to  these  country  people,  are 
fortunately  now  prevented  by  the  Spanish  gens-d'armerie,  who 
have  introduced  order  and  security,  so  that  one  can  pass 
now,  on  the  darkest  night,  through  the  most  lonely  streets  of 
Valencia,  with  perfect  safety. 

The  women  that  I  saw  were  not  so  pretty  as  those  of  Barce- 
lona. Some  few  wore  the  long  dark  mantilla,  but  most  of 
them  were  wrapt  in  yellow  or  other  bright-colored  shawls.  On 
the  whole  it  was  a  gay  costume.  Every  little  shop  or  booth 
displayed  the  brightest  and  best  embroidered  articles  they  had  ; 
and  heaped  up  from  the  very  ground  were  piles  of  various 
wares,  among  others  herbs,  vegetables,  and  fruits,  especially 
gigantic  onions  and  grass-green  melons.  Baskets  full  of  small 
common  snails,  of  the  kind  that  the  previous  day  we  had  had 
in  our  soup,  were  offered  for  sale  in  front  of  La  Lonja  de  la 
Seda,  —  the  silk  exchange,  an  extremely  peculiar  building,  with 
two  colossal  windows  as  large  as  city  gates  ;  they  admit  light 
into  an  immense  hall,  whose  roof  is  supported  by  spiral- 
formed  columns  lofty  and  slender,  like  palm-trees.  Shining 
yellow  silk  lay  in  large  bundles  on  the  floor,  and  on  counters. 

From  this  stirring  and  lively  part  of  the  town,  I  passed  to  a 
more  quiet  quarter,  where  half  a  score  of  boys  were  sweeping 
the  streets  with  sprigs  of  myrtle  in  bloom.  On  both  sides  of 
the  street  stood  handsome  mansions,  with  gardens  in  which 
were  fountains  and  hedges  of  roses.  Striped  awnings  hung 
over  the  balconies,  and  from  one  of  these  peeped  out  two 
young  girls,  the  prettiest  I  have  yet  seen  in  Spain  :  their  eyes 
were  like  dark  flames ;  their  charming  mouths  said,  in  a  single 
smile,  more  than  any  poet  could  have  said  in  a  long  poem  — 
Byron  and  Petrarca  forgive  me  ! 

I  came  to  a  large  square  with  inclosed  gardens  ;  there  were 
lovely  flowers,  palms,  gum-trees,  in  short,  all  the  most  beauti- 
ful productions  of  a  tropical  land.  There  were  plenty  of  tar- 
tanes  to  be  had,  but  one  sits  in  these  vehicles  under  a  cover, 
and  sees  nothing;  therefore  I  preferred  walking,  and  I  ac- 
tually made  my  way,  under  the  burning  sun,  out  at  the  gate 
and  over  the  bridge  to  Alameda,  the  promenade  of  Valencia. 
This  promenade  extends  along  the  dried-up  bed  of  the  Guadal- 
quiver,  and  passes  by  numerous  gardens  filled  with  orange-trees, 
3 


34 


IN  SPAIN. 


and  where  plane-trees  and  palms  cast  their  grateful  shade  over 
the  white-washed  country  houses.  Here  were  roads  and  paths 
in  abundance,  but  only  a  very  few  human  beings  were  to  be 
seen.  The  sunbeams  had  become  so  overwhelmingly  warm, 
that  one  was  tempted  to  hollow  out  for  one's  self  a  cap  from 
the  fresh  cool  gourds,  and  wear  it  on  one's  hf.id  instead  of  a 
hat.  I  threw  myself  at  last  into  a  tartane,  and  stretching  my- 
self out  upon  its  hard  cushions,  under  its  sheltering  roof  I 
jogged  on  to  my  airy  room  in  Fonda  del  Cid. 

I  found  that  the  diligence  had  just  arrived  from  Barcelona, 
the  conveyance  by  which  we  had  thought  of  travelling.  It  was 
so  redolent  of  disagreeable  odors,  and  so  thickly  covered 
with  dust,  that  it  seemed  like  the  ghost  of  the  smart-looking 
vehicle  we  had  seen  only  two  days  before.  The  horses  were 
dripping  with  water ;  the  carriage  was  a  mass  of  dust ;  and  the 
passengers  issued  from  it  like  the  suffering  inmates  of  a  hos- 
pital, some  wearing  slippers,  for  with  the  long  journey  their 
feet  had  swelled  in  their  boots  ;  others  without  their  coats,  which 
were  hung  over  their  arms  :  their  hair  was  matted  with  dust, 
and  the  very  wrinkles  in  the  faces  of  the  thinnest  were 
crammed  with  it.  They  were  in  a  sad  plight ;  and  the  poor 
outrider,  who  had  all  the  time  been  fastened  to  his  horse, 
was  in  a  miserable  condition.  Four  days  previously  he  had 
mounted  the  horse  at  Valencia,  and  proceeded  at  a  gallop  — 
always  at  a  gallop  —  in  dust  and  in  heat ;  it  was  only  at  the 
stations  that  he  stopped  for  a  minute,  and  this  merely  to 
mount  a  fresh  horse :  and  so  on  till  he  reached  Barcelona. 
He  was  allowed  an  hour  or  two  there  to  take  breath,  and  then 
off  again  back  to  Valencia,  burned  by  the  fiery  sun,  half 
choked  by  the  dust  —  without  rest  —  exhausted.  And  now  he 
was  again  at  Valencia,  and  could  put  his  feet  upon  the  ground, 
but  he  seemed  hardly  able  to  walk :  his  face  was  like  that  of  a 
mummy,  and  his  smile  was  the  smile  of  a  sick  person  to  whom 
people  say,  "  You  look  a  little  better  to-day,"  but  who  knows 
that  it  is  unmeaning  talk. 

Connected  with  Valencia  are  several  of  the  old  Spanish  ro- 
mances about  the  Cid  —  he  who  in  all  his  battles,  and  on  all 
occasions  when  he  was  misjudged,  remained  true  to  his  God, 


VALENCIA. 


35 


his  people,  and  himself;  he  who  in  his  own  time  took  rank 
with  the  monarchs  of  Spain,  and  down  to  our  time  is  the  pride 
of  the  country.  As  a  conqueror  he  entered  Valencia  :  here 
he  lived  in  domestic  happiness  with  his  noble  and  heroic  wife 
Ximene,  and  his  daughters  Dona  Sol  and  Dona  Elvira ; 
here  stood  around  his  bed  of  death  all  who  were  dear  to  him 
—  even  his  very  war-horse,  Babieca,  he  ordered  to  be  called 
thither.  In  song  it  is  said  that  the  horse  stood  like  a  lamb, 
and  gazed  with  his  large  eyes  on  his  master,  who  could  no 
more  speak  to  him  than  the  poor  horse  himself  could  speak. 
Through  the  streets  of  Valencia  passed  at  night  the  extraor- 
dinary cavalcade  — 

TO  SAN  PEDER  DE  CORDONA, 

which  the  departed  chief  had  desired.  The  victorious  colors 
of  the  Cid  were  carried  in  front :  four  hundred  knights  pro- 
tected them  ;  then  came  the  corpse.  Upright  upon  his  war- 
horse  sat  the  dead,  arrayed  in  his  armor  with  his  helmet  and 
his  shield,  his  long  white  beard  flowing  down  to  his  breast. 
Oil  Diaz  and  Bishop  Jeronymo  escorted  the  body  on  either 
side,  then  followed  Dona  Ximene  with  three  hundred  noble- 
men. The  gate  of  Valencia  toward  Castile  was  opened,  and 
the  procession  passed  slowly  and  silently  out  into  the  open 
fields,  where  the  Moorish  army  were  encamped.  A  dark, 
Moorish  woman  shot  at  them  a  poisoned  arrow,  but  she  and  a 
hundred  of  her  sisters  paid  the  forfeit  of  their  lives  for  that 
deed.  Thirty-six  Moorish  princes  were  in  the  camp,  but  ter- 
ror seized  them  when  they  beheld  the  dead  hero  on  his  white 
charger : — 

And  to  their  vessels  they  took  flight, 

And  many  sprang  into  the  waves  ; 
Two  thousand,  certainly,  that  night, 

Amidst  the  billows  found  their  graves. 

And  the  Cid  thus  won,  after  he  was  dead,  goods,  tents,  gold, 
and  silver  —  and  the  poorest  became  rich,  so  says  the  song 
of  the  Cid  in  Valencia. 

And  now  stands,  with  its  enormous  square  stones  and  jag- 
ged wall,  the  old  gate  through  which  the  dead  rode  on  that 
night  of  dread  and  destruction  to  the  Moors.  I  stood  in  the 


36  IN  SPAIN. 

shade  of  that  gate,  and  was  thinking  of  the  hero  and  his  war- 
horse  when,  strangely  enough,  quite  a  different  vision  was 
recalled  to  my  mind.  Just  as  I  stood  there  came  a  boy, 
shouting  in  his  glee,  riding  the  most  miserable  nag  I  had  ever 
seen ;  the  animal  was  literally  skin  and  bone,  and  looked  the 
picture  of  hunger  :  my  thoughts  naturally  wandered  from  the 
Cid's  noble  war-horse  to  Don  Quixote's  Rosinante  !  Both 
still  equally  live  in  the  world  of  poetry  and  romance  ;  and 
there,  the  names  of  Babieca  and  Rosinante  will  always  survive. 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  third  day  after  our  arrival  here, 
Collin  went  to  Murviedro ;  but  I  preferred  driving  about  the 
streets  of  Valencia,  to  see  if  I  could  find  anything  very  pecul- 
iar or  characteristic.  I  had  armed  myself  with  a  pencil  and 
paper,  but  I  found  nothing  extraordinary.  Yes,  indeed,  I  did 
find  something ;  but  it  might  as  well  have  been  found  at  home  in 
Copenhagen,  or  in  any  other  town.  Before  the  door  of  a  shop, 
which  seemed  to  be  as  wide  as  the  whole  of  the  interior,  hung 
an  immense  article  of  dress.  It  looked  like  an  alarm  bell,  but 
sras  composed  of  linen,  expanded  by  iron  wires,  or  canes.  It 
was  the  garment  which  is  nowadays  called  crinoline,  and  in 
which  the  female  sex  all  look  equally  stout  —  young  girls  as 
well  as  old  women ;  it  looks  like  an  open  umbrella  fastened 
round  the  waist,  something  with  which  neither  nature  nor  na- 
ture's Creator  has  anything  to  do.  This  expansive  petticoat 
hung  there ;  and  as  its  gigantic  proportions  occupied  the 
whole  front  of  the  shop,  all  sorts  of  goods  were  attached  to  it 
—  children's  socks,  neckties,  ribbons,  fans,  and  all  manner  of 
things.  The  crinoline  was  a  sign-board  for  the  shop.  I  fell 
into  a  train  of  thought  at  this  sight.  My  ideas  wandered  to 
the  future.  Yes,  in  the  course  of  a  thousand  years,  women 
will  not  wear  crinoline  ;  its  very  name  will  never  be  mentioned. 
It  will  only  be  noticed  in  some  very  ancient  works,  and  those 
who  read  them,  and  see  the  pictures  of  the  ladies  of  our  days 
equipped  in  crinoline,  will  cry,  —  "  Merciful  Heavens  !  What 
a  ridiculous  dress  !  " 

They  will  read,  perhaps,  of  its  origin,  which  will  then  be  a 
tradition.  They  will  read  of  the  empress,  young  and  beauti- 
ful who,  in  her  girlish  bashfulness,  adopted  this  costume,  to 


VALENCIA. 


37 


conceal  from  the  world  that  she  was  about  to  become  a 
mother.  She  was  very  clever  and  very  pretty,  and  every  one 
thought  they  would  be  the  same  if  they  imitated  her  ;  so  they 
all  took  to  crinoline  —  the  fat  and  the  thin,  the  tall  and  the 
short :  it  was  a  frightful  sight !  How  she  must  have  laughed 
at  them,  that  young  and  lovely  inventor  !  And  it  was  patron- 
ized in  her  country  —  in  the  neighboring  country  —  in  my 
country  ;  and  the  cry  was,  "  It  is  so  pretty  —  it  is  so  becom- 
ing —  it  is  so  cool ! " 

Purchasers  flocked  to  this  shop  in  Valencia.  I  drew  the 
mighty  attraction,  and  it  is  so  large  that  it  quite  obscures  any* 
thing  else  in  Valencia. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ALMANSA  AND  ALICANTE. 

WE  are  going  to  travel  again.  It  was  night  when  the 
tartane  came  to  the  door,  to  take  us  to  the  station. 
The  train  was  to  start  at  dawn  of  day.  Not  a  light  was  to  be 
seen,  but  the  stars  were  shining  in  their  full  magnificence. 
The  narrow  crooked  streets  were  as  dark  as  pitch ;  not  a  hu- 
man creature  was  stirring,  until,  after  a  long  tedious  drive,  we 
reached  the  railway  station.  Outside  of  it,  on  the  bare  ground, 
some  lights  and  lamps  were  burning  :  here  were  small  buffets 
where  were  sold  water  for  drinking,  anisette,  and  very  fine 
fruit.  We  found  ourselves  amidst  a  crowd.  People  with 
goods  and  people  without  goods  were  hurrying  up  —  peasants 
enveloped  in  burnoose-looking  mantas,  reeking  with  cigars  ; 
girls  and  elder  dames,  with  crowds  of  children,  sat  gazing 
around  them  with  wonderment.  People  became  quite  adepts 
in  waiting  and  dawdling  about.  It  was  very  long  past  the 
hour  named  for  departure,  before  we  could  even  get  the  con- 
veyances opened  to  admit  us.  But  when,  at  length,  we  did 
make  good  our  entrance  into  a  first-class  carriage,  we  found  it 
quite  a  nice  little  room,  with  sofas  and  soft  cushions. 

And  now  we  started !  Day  broke  ;  the  skies  looked  red, 
and  the  air  became  transparently  clear !  We  were  flying 
through  a  land  of  sunshine,  in  which  lofty  palm-trees  waved 
their  green  fan-like  branches  in  the  glowing  atmosphere,  and 
pretty  white  villas  lay  amidst  bowers  of  orange-trees.  Vines 
grew  as  if  woven  over  the  ground.  The  slightly  rippling 
waters  of  the  canals  yielded  a  subdued,  pleasing  sound.  The 
whole  landscape,  taking  a  bird's-eye  view  of  it,  looked  like  an 
enormous  carpet,  embroidered  with  all  the  sorts  of  fruits  that 
ever  painter  thought  fit  to  transfer  to  canvas.  We  stopped  an 
immense  time  at  every  station,  but  that  gave  us  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  the  many-colored  dresses  of  the  people. 


ALMANSA   AND  ALICANTE. 


39 


At  the  old  Moorish  town  Jativa,1  which,  with  its  citadel,  is 
exceedingly  picturesque,  we  bid  adieu  to  the  gardens  of  Val- 
encia, and  pass  from  its  fruitful  oasis  into  a  wilderness  of 
stones.  The  sun  was  burning  fiercely,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the 
stony  ground,  which  had  retained  the  warmth  of  the  sun  from 
the  preceding  day,  let  it  now  stream  forth  in  the  already  too 
hot  air.  At  vast  distances  from  each  other  lay  solitary  dwell- 
ings, with  fortress-like  walls  —  defenses  against  wild  beasts 
and  bad  men.  Not  a  tree  was  to  be  seen  :  the  only  green 
visible  were  some  cacti,  which,  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks  or  at 
the  back  of  fallen  walls,  pushed  themselves  forward  like  fungi. 
Heavily  laden  wagons,  drawn  by  six  or  eight  mules,  harnessed 
the  ore  before  the  other,  gave  some  little  life  to  this  otherwise 
dead,  scorched  desert.  It  was  as  if  boiling  water  had  over- 
flowed the  whole  region  —  as  if  the  burning  sun  had  blighted 
every  blade  of  grass,  and  had  not  even  left  their  ashes 
behind. 

Suddenly  we  stopped  at  a  large  station.  The  road  here 
branched  off  in  two  directions  :  one  led  to  Madrid,  and  the 
train  followed  it  without  delay ;  the  other  led  to  Alicante, 
which  was  to  be  the  termination  of  our  day's  journey.  It  was 
just  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  we  had  to  wait  until  six 
in  the  evening  before  the  Madrid  train  would  arrive,  by  which 
we  were  to  proceed.  However,  we  had  to  eat,  to  sleep,  and 
to  look  about  us  ;  and  with  these  three  occupations  the  time 
might  be  got  through.  Here,  at  the  station,  was  a  very  good 
restaurant,  kept  by  a  Frenchman  ;  and  close  by  there  was, 
for  the  convenience  of  travellers,  an  Oriental-looking,  shady 
building,  having  cool,  lofty  rooms,  where  one  could  draw  one's 
breath  —  in  fact,  put  up  for  the  night,  if  one  wished  it :  and 
as  to  anything  remarkable  in  the  neighborhood,  we  had  only 
to  take  a  short  walk  to  reach  the  little  country  town  of  Al- 
mansa,  so  well  known  in  the  history  of  the  war. 

The  streets  were  straight,  very  broad,  and  without  pave- 
ments :  the  houses  were  low,  with  whitewashed,  slanting 
walls,  holes  for  windows  ;  here  and  there  a  shutter  which 
could  be  closed,  but  not  a  single  pane  of  glass  was  to  be  seen 

1  The  letter  J  is  pronounced  like  K  :  thus  Jativa,  Katlva  ;  Loja,  Lokka  j 
Tajo,  Takko. 


-40 


IN  SPAIN. 


in  the  whole  long  street.  The  wide  door-way  was  concealed 
by  a  reed  mat ;  where  that  was  put  to  one  side,  you  could  see 
into  the  poor,  half-dark  room.  There  sat  its  inhabitants  at 
work  ;  outside  they  could  not  have  worked  —  the  sun  was  too 
overpowering.  Every  cottage  opened  upon  a  small  green 
plot,  either  shaded  by  a  vine,  or  at  least  adorned  with  some 
flowering  plant.  Dark  eyes,  dark  hair,  and  brownish  yellow- 
ish skins,  had  the  few  human  beings  I  met  in  the  streets, 
which  sloped  down  toward  a  steep  rock,  on  the  summit  ol 
which  arose  the  ruins  of  a  fortified  castle.  Down  below  where 
I  stood,  in  a  sunshine  which  was  like  flames  of  fire,  lay  the 
church,  and  a  couple  of  buildings  composed  of  heavy  hewn 
stone,  with  arms  carved  over  the  gateways. 

Noble  families  had  once  resided  there.  Now,  the  halls 
stood  empty  and  deserted,  the  walls  were  split  and  crumbling 
away,  deal  boards  hung  loosely  over  the  broken  windows. 
Amidst  this  desolation  and  solitude,  even  at  midday,  you 
come  to  a  monument  —  a  pyramid  with  a  lion  hewn  out  of 
stone  —  a  souvenir  of  the  battle  of  Almansa,  when  the  town 
won  the  glorious  name  of  "  Fidelissima."  *  Then  was  this 
heated  stony  plain  a  bloody  field  of  carnage  ;  several  thou- 
sands lay  there  wounded,  thousands  more  lay  dead,  but  the 
conqueror  bore  a  hundred  and  twelve  standards  from  the 
field.  All  this  has  been  long  since  forgotten  in  story  and  in 
song :  the  sun  and  the  wind,  with  their  destroying  touch,  have 
careered  over  this  enormous  stone  table,  in  which,  as  in  a 
mosaic,  Almansa  is  inlaid ;  the  blood  of  warrior  and  con- 
queror, so  freely  shed,  have  been  effaced  from  the  soil. 

Having  seen  all  that  was  remarkable  in  the  town,  I  had  to 
wend  my  way  back  through  the  wide,  sun-scorching  street,  al- 
ways ascending  between  the  blinding  white  houses  ;  it  was 
like  passing  through  a  Hindu  funeral  pile,  or  a  slow  long-last- 
ing Auto  da  Fe ;  and  when  at  length  I  reached  my  room,  with 
its  closed  windows,  and  its  cool  reed  mat  over  the  floor,  I  had 
a  perception  of  what  it  must  be  to  come  from  the  heated 
sandy  Desert  of  Sahara  into  the  shade  of  an  oasis.  I  sank 
down,  drew  a  long  breath  —  and  had  it  been  possible  for  me 
to  think,  my  thoughts  would  have  been,  —  I  am  in  the  land  of 
1  Ap-i!  2i>  1707. 


ALMANSA   AND  ALICANTE.  41 

the  sun,  my  blood  is  so  thoroughly  warmed  that  I  shall  be 
able  to  dispense  with  a  stove  the  whole  of  next  winter  at 
home  in  the  north.  What  an  advantage !  what  a  saving ! 
The  hot  sun-kiss  of  Spain,  with  its  heated  air,  had  entered 
into  my  lungs,  and  inflamed  my  blood.  I  could  think  only  of 
the  sunshine,  I  could  dream  only  of  the  sunshine  ;  and  so  one 
becomes  acclimatized.  Blood-red  skies  blazed  like  a  proces- 
sion of  torches,  as  we  started  on  our  journey  from  Almansa. 

The  train  hastened  on,  but  it  was  midnight  before  we 
reached  Alicante.  Around  all  was  darkness  ;  only  at  the 
different  stations  blazed  a  couple  of  gas-lights.  People  got 
out  of  and  got  into  the  carriages  ;  everywhere  reigned  uproar 
and  disorder.  I  reflected  with  some  anxiety  on  our  arrival  at 
the  station  at  Alicante ;  we  had  no  one  there,  as  at  Barcelona, 
to  take  charge  of  us.  How  should  we  get  on  ?  But  our  good 
star  was  in  the  ascendant.  We  had  a  proof  of  the  Spanish 
people's  kind  consideration  for  strangers.  A  young  Spaniard 
from  Seville  was  in  the  same  carriage  with  us,  and  at  one  of 
the  stations  there  joined  him  a  young  officer,  whose  home  was 
at  Alicante.  He  was  vivacity  itself,  and  would  talk  to  us, 
although  our  conversation  was  a  strange  mixture  of  French 
and  Spanish,  carried  on  principally  by  mutual  guessing.  We 
spoke  of  the  comforts  and  discomforts  of  travelling,  of  the 
road  police,  of  life  in  Alicante  :  he  wished  to  know  my  posi- 
tion and  my  employment ;  and  when  I  told  him  that  I  was  a 
poet,  and  that  one  of  my  first  dramatic  works  had  been  the 
Spaniards  in  Denmark  under  Zamora,  and  he  knew  of  that 
affair  and  the  flight  of  the  Spaniards,  we  became  quite  like 
old  friends.  I  expressed  my  delight  with  his  beautiful  coun- 
try, and  at  all  the  kindness  we  had  met  with. 

We  soon  reached  the  station  at  Alicante.  There  was  a 
frightful  crowd,  but  our  young  friend  called  three  sentinels 
who  were  on  duty  ;  nevertheless  one  took  a  trunk,  another  a 
carpet-bag,  and  the  third  made  way  for  us  to  pass  to  the  tar- 
tane,  which  the  officer  himself  had  fetched.  The  throng  of 
people  went  to  one  side  \  they  took  us,  doubtless,  either  for 
very  distinguished  persons,  or  for  prisoners  who  were  being 
conveyed  to  prison.  It  was  all  one  to  us  ;  we  reached  the 


42  IN  SPAIN. 

carriage  :  our  two  Spanish  friends  shook  hands  with  us,  and 
told  us  what  we  had  to  pay  the  driver,  who  took  us  to  Fonda 
del  Bossio,  which  was  situated  in  one  of  the  broad  principal 
streets  near  Alameda  de  la  Reina. 

In  the  dark  street,  light  streamed  from  lamps  at  the  Fonda  ; 
a  wide  staircase  led  up  to  the  airy  rooms  covered  with  reed 
mats  ;  all  the  windows  were  open,  but  there  was  not  a  breath 
of  wind  stirring.  They  brought  us  splendid  fruits  —  firm, 
juicy  muscatel  grapes,  and  sparkling  wine,  genuine  Alicante. 
The  sound  of  the  sea  was  our  music  ;  the  stars  of  heaven,  an 
illumination.  It  was  a  summer  night  such  as  I  had  never  be- 
fore known  ;  and  next  day  was  a  summer  morning,  succeeded 
by  a  summer  night ;  and  many,  many  such  there  were  in 
sunny  Spain. 

The  next  day  we  were  to  see  Alicante  !  Whitewashed,  flat- 
roofed  houses  with  balconies,  were  the  principal  features  of 
the  place.  Two  or  three  of  the  streets  were  paved.  Alameda 
looked  like  a  fragment  clipped  from  one  of  the  Boulevards  of 
Paris,  and  so  small  a  bit  that  it  would  not  have  been  missed. 
Its  trees  gave  but  little  shade,  yet  people  were  sitting  there 
on  the  stone  benches  looking  at  the  prpmenaders.  Here 
came  a  couple  of  Swedish  sailors ;  they  spoke  boldly  and 
freely  in  their  mother-tongue  ;  they  knew  that  no  one  under- 
stood them.  There  passed,  in  a  gay  silk  dress,  and  lace 
mantilla,  a  very  pretty  young  lady  :  she  tripped  along  on  her 
small  feet ;  she  managed  her  splendid  fan  with  the  utmost 
grace,  she  managed  her  eyes  with  good  effect  —  she  was  a 
lady  of  high  standing. 

"  See  that  wench  !  see  that  wench  !  "  cried  the  sailors. 

"  She  is  a  beautiful  frigate  !  "  exclaimed  the  one. 

"  She  is  firing  signal  shots  !  "  said  the  other. 

Near  Alameda,  out  by  the  sea-shore,  one  comes  upon  a  low 
but  long  building,  a  sort  of  bazaar  for  butchers,  fishermen, 
and  fruiterers.  On  the  walls  hung  bloody  hares  and  rabbits, 
with  meat  in  larger  and  smaller  pieces.  In  the  fishermen's 
hall  lay,  on  counters  and  in  tubs,  fish  and  aquatic  animals  of 
all  colors,  forms,  and  sizes  ;  among  them  eels,  and  clumsy,  ill- 
shaped  dark  fishes.  There  was  a  constant  buzz  of  voices, 


ALMANSA   AND  ALICANTE. 


43 


paileyings  between  the  sellers  and  the  purchasers.  From  the 
meat  and  the  fish  markets,  we  passed  to  that  of  the  vege- 
tables ;  oranges  lay  here  in  heaps  like  potatoes  with  us ; 
colossal  onions  and  grapes  hung  round  the  pillars,  and 
seemed  to  spring  out  of  the  dry  wood.  Outside  of-  this  place 
stretched  the  principal  streets  of  the  town,  with  fine  buildings, 
among  which  the  town-hall  stood  prominently  forth,  with  a 
turret  in  each  of  its  four  corners.  The  cathedral  was  situated 
but  a  few  steps  from  this,  hidden,  however,  amidst  confined 
lanes.  The  road  passed  through  a  damp  arch,  and  half-dark 
piazza,  which  inclosed  some  sickly-looking  plants  and  trees. 
The  arches  of  the  church  were  crowded  too  much  together, 
and  the  light  fell  too  sparingly  amidst  the  heavy,  mouldy  air 
within.  How  often  have  I  not  in  Spain,  in  the  churches 
where  devotion  should  be  called  forth,  felt  anxious  to  kneel 
with  the  congregation  before  the  invisible  God  ;  but  in  them  I 
breathed  an  air  that  was  not  from  heaven ;  I  wandered  in  a 
twilight  that  was  created  by  man.  Here  is  deposited  in  a 
press,  under  lock  and  key,  the  cloth  wherewith  the  "holy  Saint 
Veronica  wiped  the  Saviour's  face  when  He  was  on  His  way 
to  be  crucified  at  Golgotha.  I  hastened  from  the  interior  of 
the  church  out  to  the  Almighty's  free,  sunlit  air ;  I  saw  happy 
people  around  me,  and  perceived  life  and  animation.  Girls., 
elder  women,  and  children  stood  on  their  balconies  or  at  the 
doors  of  their  houses ;  here  were  plenty  of  subjects  for  an 
artist's  pencil. 

The  rays  of  the  sun  could  not  penetrate  to  the  base  of  the 
high  houses  ;  the  balconies  met,  so  that  neighbor  could  shake 
hands  with  neighbor  from  house  to  house.  The  beams  of  the 
sun  shone  more  powerfully  out  upon  the  open  square;  it 
seemed  as  if  they  imbibed  more  strength  from  the  white  walls 
of  the  houses,  from  the  yellow  dust  upon  the  streets,  and  from 
the  dry  rocky  walls  around  the  town.  There  was  not  a  tree, 
not  a  bush  to  be  seen :  the  atmosphere  itself  was  so  dry,  that 
the  mouth  and  throat  lost  their  natural  moisture  ;  and  if  you 
wished  to  go  over  the  sun  baked  port  to  one  of  the  open  bath- 
ing-houses on  the  shore,  you  must  first  gather  up  all  your 
strength,  and  then,  under  the  protecting  shade  of  an  umbrella, 
seek  the  sea,  whose  rolling  waves  can  alone  restore  elasticity 
to  your  slothful,  half-broiled  limbs. 


44 


IN  SPAIN. 


Along  the  beach,  just  under  the  flaming  yellow  rocky  slopes, 
devoid  of  all  vegetation,  stood  large  wooden  sheds  wherein 
were  kept  some  lions  and  hyenas  ;  if  they  had  escaped  from 
their  confinement  they  would  have  thought  themselves  again  in 
their  sunny  Africa.  Past  this  place  toward  the  road  drove 
one  carriage  after  another,  filled  with  ladies  and  gentlemen  in 
the  national  agricultural  costume  composed  of  velvet  and  silk ; 
they  struck  their  castanets,  they  played  the  mandolin,  and 
singular-looking,  long-necked  stringed  instruments. 

For  the  first  time  we  heard  next  day  of  the  Danish  Consul, 
who,  at  about  the  distance  of  a  mile  from  town,  had  been  cele- 
brating a  people's  festival.  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  the  garbs 
of  the  common  people,  had  by  torch-light  danced  until  a  late 
hour  at  night  in  the  open  square  near  the  sea.  What  a  pity  that 
we  had  not  known  of  this  before  !  In  the  town  itself  there  was 
nothing  to  indicate  this  outpouring  of  its  inhabitants.  It  was 
Sunday  evening.  Alameda  displayed  a  crowd  of  promenad- 
ers ;  there  were  military,  civilians,  ladies  in  dark  mantillas  and 
with  glittering  fans,  damsels  and  grown  up  women  with  em- 
broidered handkerchiefs  on  their  heads.  Military  music  played 
until  midnight,  troops  of  children  danced  in  circles  in  the  midst 
of  the  turmoil,  all  the  benches  were  filled  with  gossiping 
groups  ;  it  was  like  being  present  in  a  rustic  ball-room.  The 
gas-lights  shone  brightly  under  the  dark  trees.  Down  toward 
the  sea,  on  the  contrary,  all  was  lonely  and  deserted ;  not  a 
single  light  glimmered  there.  I  saw  the  large,  clear  stars,  I 
heard  the  dashing  of  the  waves ;  but  the  music  from  Alameda 
reached  even  there.  Thoughts  of  home  came  crowdrng  on  my 
mind,  with  recollections  of  our  Danish  summer  nights,  of  the 
dances  under  the  beech-trees,  near  the  open  sea-shore ;  it  was 
not  homesickness  that  I  felt.  No  —  I  was  happy,  for  I  was 
at  home  in  my  thoughts  and  feelings. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  JOURNEY  BY  DILIGENCE  OVER  ELCHE  TO  MURCIA. 

A  LIC ANTE  is  one  of  the  principal  stations  for  steamers 
Jr\.  along  the  Spa'nish  coast.1  It  would  have  been  more 
convenient  for  us  to  have  gone  by  steam  hence  to  Malaga,  and 
from  thence  by  land  to  Granada ;  but  then  we  should  have  had 
to  have  given  up  Murcia,  which  had  been  described  to  us  as 
a  most  interesting  town.  There  we  should  meet  with  Moor- 
ish reminiscences,  there  we  should  see  Gitanos,  and  there  we 
should  find  the  most  picturesque  costumes  in  Spain.  On  the 
road  to  it,  we  should  pass  through  the  most  tropical  portion  of 
the  country,  and  be  able  to  see  the  celebrated  palm-groves 
of  Elche,  the  largest  in  Europe.  We  could  not  give  up  all  this. 
To  be  sure,  connected  with  the  journey  were  the  most  fearful 
histories  of  attacks  and  pillage.  The  country  from  Alicante 
to  Murcia,  and  from  thence  farther  on  to  Cartagena,  was  of  as 
notorious  ill  repute  as  the  Sierra  Morena  mountains  them- 
selves. However,  our  Consul,  and  every  Spaniard  to  whom 
we  spoke  on  the  subject,  assured  us  we  had  nothing  to  be 
afraid  of;  that  the  police-road  was  excellent,  and  all  the  roads 
perfectly  safe  :  we  might  travel  with  open  purses  in  our  hands ; 
no  one  would  take  a  doit. 

Genuine  Spanish  diligence  travelling  we  were  now  to  try. 
We  fook  our  places.  Precisely  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
the  tartane  was  at  the  door,  and  rumbled  off  with  us  through 
gloom  and  darkness  to  the  large  office  where  the  diligence  was 
kept.  You  might,  until  it  was  ready  to  start,  wait  in  the  nar- 
row dismal  street,  or  go  inside,  where  a  lamp  and  half  a  candle 
feebly  illumined  the  nearest  objects.  The  miserable  light  fell 
most  prominently  upon  a  scantily  clad  old  gentleman  in  the 

1  The  Spanish  steamboats  touch  at  Barcelona,  Alicante,  Malaga,  and 
Algeciras ;  the  French  steamers  between  Marseilles  and  Algiers  call  only  at 
Alicante. 


46  IN  SPAIN. 

inner  office,  that  is  to  say,  on  a  chest,  puffing  his  cigar  vigor- 
ously, and  handing  out  wooden  tickets,  and  receiving  money 
from  those  of  the  passengers  who  had  not  yet  paid  their  fare. 
Two  armed  men  had  stretched  themselves  on  the  bare  ground, 
and  an  old  woman,  wrapt  in  a  many-colored  mantle,  was 
sleeping  on  some  well-filled  sacks  that  were  lying  near. 
Trunks,  chests,  harnesses,  and  bundles  of  fagots  were  huddled 
together  in  the  large  room,  which  appeared  larger  in  the  dark- 
ness ;  a  couple  of  glowing  cigars  far  back,  showed  that  there 
were  more  space  and  more  people  than  one  saw. 

The  clock  had  struck  four,  ere  the  goods  and  the  travellers 
were  stowed  away  in  the  narrow,  heavy,  jolting  machine  that 
now,  with  a  creaking  noise,  was  set  in  motion,  drawn  by  ten 
mules  laden  with  jingling  bells.  I  cannot  say  that  we  set  off 
at  once,  as  we  had  been  accustomed  to  do  before  in  Spain ; 
we  went  slowly,  step  by  step  ;  the  driver  seemed  unwilling  to 
leave  the  dusty  streets  of  Alicante.  Here  and  there  we 
knocked  against  a  portion  of  the  pavement.  One  might  have 
thought  that  it  was  laid  only  to  give  the  carriage  and  us  a 
lively  shock  from  time  to  time,  when  our  heads  came  in  close 
contact  with  the  cover  of  the  rumbling  conveyance.  We  drove 
past  Alameda,  the  lights  were  extinguished  ;  we  drove  past  our 
hotel,  where  all  seemed  in  deep  repose.  My  fat  Spanish 
neighbor  was  already  sleeping,  sleeping  before  we  had  left 
the  very  streets  of  Alicante,  where  in  the  deep  twilight  the 
houses  looked  like  large  whitewashed  reservoirs  in  a  town 
where  water  was  scarce. 

As  it  became  more  light,  and  the  landscape  could  be  bet- 
ter discerned,  it  assumed  the  appearance  of  a  gray  paint- 
ing. The  road  was  remarkably  wide  —  ten  carriages  could 
have  driven  side  by  side  on  it.  Sometimes  it  was  stony  and 
level,  sometimes  steep  and  cut  up.  The  horizon  was  skirted 
by  dark,  bare  hills.  The  whole  country  seemed  as  if  adapted 
to  assaults  and  robbery  ;  there  was  not  a  living  creature  to  be 
seen.  Scattered  far  and  wide  stood  a  solitary  building,  large 
and  rambling,  with  stone  cisterns  for  rain-water  ;  it  was  sold 
by  the  glass,  was  tepid  and  grayish  white,  and,  even  mixed 
with  anisette,  it  tasted  like  medicine. 

The  road  became  worse  and  worse,  and  quite  bore  out  the 


ELCHE    TO  MURCIA. 


47 


most  frightful  descriptions  that  can  be  read  of  Spanish  high- 
ways. It  seemed  as  if  we  were  driving  over  a  wide  dried-up 
village  pool.  The  mayoral  lashed  the  mules,  the  zagal  shouted 
and  whistled  "  Thiah  !  "  and  thundered  forth  a  string  of  names 
which  appeared  a  necessary  appendage  to  the  journey  !  The 
heavy,  overladen  vehicle  in  which  we  sat  leaned  terribly  to  the 
right,  but  regained  its  balance  by  its  wheels  suddenly  sinking 
into  a  hole  on  the  left.  Happily  it  did  not  upset ;  it  was  too 
well  accustomed  to  these  jolts.  Sometimes  the  carriage  gave 
a  hop  over  a  little  hillock  of  earth,  so  that  the  passengers  were 
nearly  thrown  into  a  most  uncomfortable  state.  Now,  we 
were  driving  through  wide,  stagnant  pools  of  water  with  un- 
seen deep  ruts  ;  now,  over  stony  slopes  that  protruded  them- 
selves into  the  road.  We  expected  every  moment  to  be  upset, 
but  that  certainly  did  not  happen ;  we  went  so  fast  that  it  was 
only  the  centrifugal  power  that  kept  us  right. 

And  this  neglected,  terrible  road  led  to  a  country  that  was  a 
perfect  paradise,  an  oasis  of  beauty,  like  Armida's  enchanted 
garden.  We  were  approaching  Elche  ;  we  saw  the  valley  with 
fruit-laden  trees,  and  its  extensive  palm-wood,  the  largest  and 
most  beautiful  in  Europe.  Enormous  palms  elevated  here  their 
upright  trunks,  covered,  as  it  were,  with  layers  of  scales,  sur- 
prisingly thick,  and  yet  still  slender  in  their  great  height. 
Dates  hung  in  large  thick  clusters,  upon  stem  after  stem,  un- 
der their  green  leafy  screens.  The  whole  of  the  underwood 
was  composed  of  pomegranate-trees,  where  the  bright-red  fruit 
shone  among  the  dark  leaves  ;  the  pomegranates  also  hung 
from  large  green  waving  festoons  ;  here  and  there  stood  a 
citron-tree,  whose  fruit  looked  pale  yellow,  contrasted  with  the 
vermilion  pomegranates.  We  were  in  the  home  of  luxuri- 
ance, a  circle  for  the  sun-beaming  Sakuntala. 

There  is  but  one  Elche  in  Spain. 

The  whole  of  this  day's  journey  had  opened  to  us  a  vista,  a 
state  of  nature,  which  reminded  us  of  views  in  the  Holy  Land. 
We  had  driven  over  scorched  stone  steppes,  and  quenched 
our  thirst  with  the  cisterns'  tepid  water ;  the  sun's  rays  had 
burned  us  as  they  burn  in  the  valleys  of  Palestine  ;  in  the 
heated  air  we  had  enjoyed  the  shades  of  the  palm-trees  as 


48  IN  SPAIN. 

King  David  enjoyed  them,  and  as  the  disciples  knew  them  in 
their  wanderings. 

Valencia's  rich  campagna  may  be  called  a  garden  of  fra- 
grant herbs.  The  environs  of  Elche  are  an  Eastern  park  ;  it 
is  Spain's  bouquet  of  palms  —  a  bouquet  miles  in  circumfer- 
ence. The  town  itself  contains  about  two  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, and  was,  in  the  time  of  the  Romans,  larger  and  more 
important ;  the  sea  then  came  far  up,  and  Elche  had  a  har- 
bor. We  drove  for  a  short  way  alongside  the  yellow  brown- 
ish walls  ;  they  were  covered  with  a  drapery  of  creeping  plants 
in  rich  fresh  bloom.  In  the  little  venta  where  the  diligence 
put  up,  we  drank  our  chocolate,  and  after  an  hour's  rest  the 
mules  shook  again  their  jingling  brass  ornaments  ;  we  were 
squeezed  again,  as  before,  into  the  diligence,  which  was  now 
to  proceed  to  Orihuela,  whose  fruitful  campagna  stands  in 
such  high  repute  among  the  Spaniards,  that  they  say,  — 
"  Whether  it  rains  or  not,  corn  will  grow  at  Orihuela." 1 

The  handsome  buildings  in  the  town,  the  immense  cavalry 
barracks,  the  archbishop's  palace,  and  the  cathedral,  I  cer- 
tainly saw,  but  I  do  not  remember  them.  I  perfectly  remem- 
6er,  however,  the  inn  here  where  we  dined  ;  it  was  not  to  be 
forgotten.  The  court-yard,  the  rooms,  the  kitchen,  the  whole 
establishment,  was  as  thoroughly  old  Spanish  as  could  be. 
From  the  street  you  entered  a  yard  crammed  with  all  kinds 
of  ancient  vehicles,  —  gigs,  tartanes,  carriages  from  the  era  of 
that  valiant  knight  Don  Quixote,  of  blessed  memory.  The 
diligence  stood  here  like  a  noble  elephant  in  this  menagerie 
of  conveyances.  Turkey-cocks,  cats,  and  other  living  crea- 
tures, crowded  the  crooked  path  that  led  to  the  entrance  of  the 
house,  which  was  adorned  by  a  dusty,  half-withered  vine,  on 
which  hung  rags  and  parings  of  fruit.  The  wide  door-way  had 
neither  a  door  nor  a  mat ;  the  rooms  were  overcrowded  with 
people  at  tables  holding  eatables  ;  the  flies  buzzed  in  enor- 
mous swarms,  swaying  about  like  large  dark  veils.  Not  a  va- 
cant chair  or  bench  was  to  be  found  ;  one  had  to  seek  for  a 
seat  outside,  and  to  be  thankful  to  get  a  stone  or  an  inverted 
tub,  and  to  place  yourself  on  it,  sheltered  by  an  umbrella  from 
the  hot  rays  of  the  sun. 

1  Lluevo  o  no  Lluevo,  trigo  k  Orihuela. 


ELCHE    TO.  MURCIA.  49 

The  kitchen  was  the  central  point  from  whence  the  other 
rooms  diverged.  The  fire-place  was  all  in  a  blaze  :  there 
were  roasting  and  frying  going  on  ;  women,  the  one  uglier 
than  the  other,  old  and  young,  were  hard  at  work  scraping 
nuts,  cutting  up  meat,  cooking,  waiting  on  the  people ;  and 
yet  all  proceeding  with  a  slowness,  a  laziness,  an  indifference, 
exceedingly  provoking  to  a  hungry  person.  The  hostess,  a 
young,  fair  woman,  fat  to  a  degree,  issued  her  commands  in 
a  deep  bass  voice ;  she  seemed  possessed  of  considerable 
strength,  and  could  doubtless  have  forced  a  man  down  on  his 
knees.  She  would  have  made  a  first-rate  model  for  the  youth- 
ful wife  of  a  bandit.  She  did  not  seem  to  care  that  a  new 
batch  of  travellers  had  arrived,  that  the  diligence  had  only  a 
short  time  to  stop  there,  and  that  we  were  all  in  want  of  food. 
Several  times  she  was  requested  to  attend  to  our  wants,  but 
she  never  even  answered  us.  She  seemed  as  if  she  saw  noth- 
ing and  heard  nothing ;  she  thought  fit  to  become  merry,  and 
began  chattering  to  a  couple  of  favorite  guests  who  were  re- 
galing themselves  in  all  comfort.  When,  after  having  waited 
about  an  hour,  I  seized  her  arm  and  insisted  on  her  letting  me 
have  at  least  a  glass  of  wine,  she  stared  in  amazement  at  me, 
gave  me  a  sort  of  half-gracious  nod,  and  said,  — 

"  Wait  till  your  turn  comes  !  " 

And  I  was  obliged  to  wait.  We  were  all  obliged  to  wait, 
until  the  mules  with  their  jingling  bells  were  again  put  to  the 
diligence,  and  the  mayoral  cracked  his  whip  ;  then  two  old 
women  started  forward  at  her  signal  glance,  spread  a  cloth 
upon  the  table,  and  placed  one  roast  after  the  other  before  us. 
Madame  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  her  arms 
akimbo,  and  assumed  such  a  commanding,  overbearing  look, 
that  it  was  absolutely  amusing.  She  might  have  been  painted 
as  the  public-house  sign. 

We  entered  the  carriage,  and  set  forth ;  but  the  road  was, 
if  possible,  still  worse  than  that  we  had  already  known.  We 
encountered  hole  upon  hole  —  hurried  over  convex  and  con- 
cave, over  ruts  and  hillocks.  It  was  no  comfort  to  us  that  at 
a  short  distance  off  they  were  forming  a  good  road,  which 
would  be  ready  for  use  in  a  few  weeks.  The  Queen  of  Spain 
4 


50  IN  SPAIN. 

was  at  that  time  at  Seville.  She  was  visiting  for  the  first  time 
the  southern  provinces  of  the  country.  As  she  was  expected 
at  Murcia,  the  authorities  were  anxious  that  Her  Majesty 
should  find  the  roads  good,  and  they  were  working  hard  to 
improve  them.  Certainly  she  would  never  imagine  what  for- 
mer poor  travellers  had  gone  through. 

The  dark  naked  hills  seemed  to  recede  more  and  more  to- 
ward the  horizon  ;  the  fields  were  overgrown  with  colossal 
cacti,  covered  with  their  ripe  reddish-yellow  fruit ;  and  on  the 
heights  near  stood  the  dazzling  red  pimicntos  —  Spanish  pep- 
per —  the  bright-colored  shells  spread  out  in  the  sun  to  dry. 

About  two  hundred  men  were  working  hard  on  the  new 
railroad.  We  sat  and  gasped  for  air,  and  longed  for  a  drop 
of  water ;  it  was  brought  to  us  in  a  large  clay  vessel,  which 
had  been  lying  concealed  under  the  shade  of  the  cacti ;  the 
water  was  warmish,  and  had  a  very  bad  taste.  The  sun's  rays 
gave  us  a  continuous  hot  bath  ;  I  do  think  we  were  not  far 
from  being  boiled.  The  tartanes  stopped  quietly  on  the  road, 
the  horses  in  them  slept,  the  drivers  slept,  the  people  in  the 
inside  stretched  themselves  on  the  cushions ;  and  if  any  one 
was  thinking  of  the  Bible  at  that  moment,  it  must  have  been 
about  the  men  in  the  fiery  furnace.  Not  a  bird  was  winging 
its  way  through  the  glowing,  heated  air  ;  and  all  the  fiery  ele- 
ments around  seemed  to  have  concentrated  themselves  in  two 
large  brilliant  eyes,  which  gazed  at  me  as  I  entered  a  low,  flat- 
roofed  house,  amidst  the  dusty,  clumsy,  elephant-sized  cacti. 
A  half-grown  girl,  apparently  about  twelve  years  of  age,  of 
real  Murillo  beauty,  very  scantily  clothed  —  this,  probably, 
was  owing  to  the  heat  —  sat  there  with  a  heavy  bunch  of  ripe 
grapes  in  her  hand.  Passion  and  self-indulgence  were  ex- 
pressed in  that  Bacchante  image.  Well,  we  were  in  the  warm 
lands  ! 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  wind  stirring ;  the  very  dust  had 
not  power  to  raise  itself  from  the  road  ;  and  beneath,  in  the 
bed  of  the  river,  there  was  not  a  drop  of  water.  The  river 
had  been,  as  the  Spaniards  say,  bled,  and  to  such  a  degree 
that  its  life  seemed  extinct.  Here,  as  at  Valencia,  the  water, 
by  skillful  artificial  means,  was  made  to  irrigate  the  campagna, 
which  is  thus  rendered  a  fruitful  garden  ;  vines,  maize,  beans, 


ELCHE    TO  MURClA.  51 

and  love-apples  grow  in  the  woods,  amidst  mulberry  and 
pomegranate-trees.  We  drove  through  the  empty  bed  of  the 
river,  alongside  of  tall  bamboos,  and  bridges  we  ought  to  have 
passed  over  rose  above  us,  like  old  triumphal  arches. 

Before  us,  in  the  centre  of  this  large  fruit-garden,  we  beheld 
Murcia  :  the  slender  spire  of  the  cathedral  towered  far  above 
the  othei  buildings,  as  if  it  were  standing  up  to  bid  us  wel- 
come. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MURCIA. 

WE  drove  through  unpaved  streets,  past  the  fashionable 
promenade  of  the  town,  La  Glorieta  j  and  the  diligence 
stopped  at  a  huespedes,  that  reminded  us  of  the  wretched  inn 
at  Orihuela.  A  young  dirty  pepita,  with  fresh  white  flowers  in 
her  dark  greasy  hair,  made  up  to  us,  and  offered  to  take  us  to 
two  rooms  with  balconies.  The  fiery  red  petticoat,  the  bright 
yellow  handkerchief,  and  the  white  worked  collar,  told  that, 
however  far  from  clean  her  neck  and  arms  were,  she  was 
proud  of  her  beauty.  Cocks  and  hens  flew  at  her  approach 
as  she  crossed  the  court-yard  ;  and  when  she  heard  that  we 
had  taken  apartments  elsewhere  in  the  town,  she  mounted  the 
frail,  low  balustrade  before  the  stable  in  the  yard,  and  struck 
her  castanets,  and  cast  meaning  glances  at  us,  until  we  were 
out  of  sight  of  these  fire-works. 

A  thin  old  man  seized  next  upon  our  boxes  and  valises, 
bound  them  all  together,  and  set  off  with  them  at  a  gallop. 
We  soon  reached  the  cathedral,  and  behind  it,  on  the  Plaza 
de  San  Leandro,  we  entered  the  hotel  that  had  been  recom- 
mended to  us ;  namely,  "  Antigua  casa  de  hospedage  de  la 
Cruz."  It  was  not  a  fonda  of  the  first  class,  but  it  was  the 
best  place  in  Murcia  for  a  stranger  to  place  himself.  Here 
we  found  excellent  accommodation  at  a  reasonable  price.  We 
had  two  large  rooms,  with  balconies  looking  out  on  the  Plaza, 
and  a  side  street.  We  had  brought  letters  to  the  host,  Don 
Juan  de  la  Cruz,  and  his  wife,  but  we  were  told  that  these  two 
no  longer  kept  the  hotel,  which  was  now  under  the  charge  of 
some  of  their  relations,  young,  good-natured,  and  very  well 
qualified  people.  They  asked  whether  we  wished  to  be 
served  according  to  the  French  or  the  Spanish  fashion  ;  we 
chose  the  latter,  and  were  quite  satisfied  with  it.  We  got,  in 


MURCIA. 


53 


abundance,  roasted  peacocks  and  quails,  splendid  fruit,  and 
good  wine  ;  and  for  all  this  —  for  living  and  lodging  —  we 
only  paid  daily  sixteen  reals,  about  nine  Danish  marks.1 

We  resided  on  the  Plaza  just  behind  the  splendid  cathedral ; 
the  tones  of  the  organ  and  the  chanting  of  the  mass  reached 
us,  but  outside  all  was  lonely  and  still.  We  saw  a  few  priests 
in  their  rich  robes  proceed  across  the  Plaza,  accompanied  by 
a  couple  of  choristers  in  red  tunics,  with  wide  lace  collars. 
The  church  was,  of  course,  the  first  place  we  visited.  In  its 
original  state,  as  a  Turkish  mosque,  the  whole  building  must 
have  been  of  great  magnificence ;  in  the  lapse  of  ages,  how- 
ever, it  has  undergone  many  changes,  and  has  suffered  from 
the  addition  of  tawdry  ornaments.  The  grand  principal 
entrance  has  been  overladen  with  architectural  designs  or  bass- 
reliefs,  and  heavy  stone  statues  crowd  the  passage.  Though 
the  Moorish  spire  has  also  had  several  of  its  horseshoe- 
formed,  narrow  windows  walled  up,  and  replaced  by  other 
apertures,  yet  these  are  somewhat  in  the  Moorish  style.  Low 
inclined  planes,  leading  upward,  form  a  convenient  ascent 
from  the  street  to  the  bells  in  the  heights  above.  Loudly 
they  sing  out  in  the  breeze  over  town  and  country ! 

What  most  interested  me  in  Murcia  was  the  gypsy  tribes 
that  are  settled  there  ;  as  at  Granada,  they  occupy  a  suburb 
themselves.  It  was  not  quite  safe  to  venture  among  their 
habitations  alone,  people  said  ;  the  knife  is  in  too  free  use 
among  them.  In  all  parts  of  Europe,  wherever  the  gypsies 
are  now  found,  they  are  a  roving,  lawless  race  ;  they  are  such 
in  Hungary,  in  England,  and  up  in  Norway,  where  they  are 
known  as  "  Fantefolk  :  "  only  in  Spain  they  seem  to  find  a 
home.  Without  education,  wandering  in  paganism  the  Git- 
anos,  an  Egyptian  horde,  hunted  about,  were  permitted,  like 
other  wild  animals,  to  live  and  seek  their  food. 

Next  day  I  was  to  go  to  the  suburb  of  Murcia  where  they 
resided,  but  I  was  told  that  I  would  not  find  that  place  exclu- 
sively devoted  to  their  race,  for  during  the  last  years  Christian 
families  had  also  lived  there  ;  and  some  gypsy  born,  had  set- 
tled themselves  in  the  town.  The  Spaniards  and  Gitanos 
1  Nine  Danish  marks  are  about  eighty  cents. 


54 


IN  SPAIN. 


even   intermarry  now.     The  march  of  progress  was  driving 
romance  from  the  field. 

From  the  quiet  neighborhood  of  the  church,  where  we  were 
living,  we  passed  to  a  more  stirring  quarter,  where  the 
Alameda  was  situated.  Here  beautiful  weeping  willows 
drooped  their  leafy  branches  over  the  dried-up  river  bed.  A 
large  stone  bridge  led  over  to  a  Plaza  filled  with  people, 
where  there  were  noise  and  bustle  enough.  Peasants  in  their 
picturesque  garbs  sat  upon  their  gayly  ornamented  mules,  with 
their  wives  or  their  sweethearts  behind  them.  Children  of 
three  or  four  years  of  age  were  playing  about,  and  being 
tanned  in  the  sun  ;  one  had  the  peeled  skin  of  an  orange 
round  his  throat :  that  was  his  distinction.  Laurel-trees  and 
flowering  oleanders  grew  here  literally  in  the  gutters  ;  and  in 
these  was  water,  clear  water,  which  found  its  way  to  the  dried- 
up  depth  of  the  large  river.  We  were  here,  however,  not  on 
the  way  to  the  gypsy  suburb,  we  were  told,  but  we  found  it, 
If  I  could  draw,  I  would  have  brought  home  some  sketches 
from  this  place. 

Close  to  a  small  thatched  house,  where  there  was  a  dust- 
covered  oleander-tree  in  full  bloom,  stood  a  dark-haired  lad, 
as  brown  as  if  his  skin  had  been  dyed  with  walnut-juice :  his 
eyes  were  black  and  sparkling,  his  features  quite  those  of  a 
gypsy.  He  was  engaged  in  sharpening  a.  large  knife,  and  was 
assisted  by  a  little  nut-brown  girl,  in  an  orange-colored  petti- 
coat ;  one  sleeve  was  wanting  to  her  white  under-garment, 
but  it  was  a  dainty  little  child's  arm  that  we  saw.  She  turned 
the  grindstone,  and  put  her  tongue  out  after  me  as  I  passed 
her. 

We  took  the  shortest  way  home,  through  the  long  principal 
street,  Calle  del  Caballeros  :  the  sun  was  so  powerful,  that  we 
ourselves  looked  like  gypsies.  Not  far  from  the  church  stood 
a  building,  which  we  took  for  a  cafe',  fitted  up  with  the  ele- 
gance we  had  seen  in  Barcelona.  Here  were  airy  halls ; 
stone  pillars  supported  the  roof ;  a  large  awning  was  spread 
over  the  garden,  where,  amidst  flower-beds  and  fountains, 
were  placed  seats  and  small  tables,  on  which  lay  books  and 
newspapers.  Collin  and  I  walked  in,  and  asked  for  refresh- 


MURCIA.  55 

merits.  The  waiter  smiled,  and  said  that  we  were  in  a  club- 
house, the  Casino  of  the  town  ;  but  added  that  we  might 
remain  there,  read  the  newspapers,  and  amuse  ourselves : 
we  were  strangers,  and  that  was  enough,  —  he  must  only  first 
inform  one  of  the  directors  ;  and  we  immediately  received 
the  permission  requested  with  Spanish  politeness,  our  names 
not  even  being  asked,  only  the  country  from  whence  we 
came. 

It  was  shady  here,  but  there  was  no  air ;  heat  ruled  all. 
During  that  part  of  the  day  when  the  sun  is  most  powerful, 
people  should  keep  themselves  quiet,  and  not  be  scampering 
about ;  but  our  "  shoes  were  made  of  running  leather."  The 
evening  is  the  time  to  go  out,  and  then  one  should  proceed  to 
the  Alameda,  which  lies  high,  and  from  which  the  view  ex- 
tends, over  the  river  and  the  campagna,  as  far  as  the  hills. 
The  setting  sun  irradiated  them  with  a  rich  glow,  but  only  for 
a  moment ;  the  brightest  tints  speedily  faded  away,  and  out 
sprang  the  stars,  as  if  they  had  been  waiting  for  that  signal. 

The  sound  of  castanets  came  from  a  house  near,  but  not  as 
'we  hear  them  in  the  north  :  up  there  they  sound  as  if  the 
performers  were  only  rattling  little  wooden  cups  ;  here  they  are 
struck  so  skillfully,  that  the  music  they  make  is  not  merely 
marked  in  time,  but  full  of  expression.  They  take  their  place 
as  independent  instruments,  and  the  melody  they  yield  is  like 
a  poem  ;  it  is  the  secret  and  yet  warmly  expressed  confession 
of  two  loving  hearts.  We  know  nothing  in  the  north  of  the 
power  of  castanets  :  — 

Pomegranate-trees,  and  citron-trees,  and  trees  of  such  high  name, 

Of  castanets,  'tis  often  said,  they  were  the  parent  wood, 
And  these,  in  music,  seem  to  praise  the  trees  from  which  they  came. 

Amidst  their  themes  they  sometimes  choose  the  warmth  that's  in  oui 

blood, 
The  blood  that  from  the  beating  heart  fast  to  the  ringer  flows, 

And  causes  in  such  speaking  tones  the  castanets  to  sound. 
Say,  canst  thou  understand  at  all  the  feeling  there  that  glows  ? 

Say,  canst  thou  understand  the  words  that  music  scatters  round  ? 
It  says,  what  oft  and  oft,  my  friend,  is  echoed  by  the  heart, 

As  the  pomegranate  and  citron-trees  with  their  beauty  must  decay  ; 
So  we  may  love,  and  meet  in  joy,  but  soon  we  must  depart  : 

For  'tis  of  all  created  things,  the  doom  to  pass  away. 


56  IN  SPAIN. 

So  the  castanets  seemed  to  say ;  and  their  musical  syllables 
have  formed  my  first  song  in  Spain. 

From  a  small  street  a  funeral  procession  advanced  over  the 
Plaza ;  it  was  the  only  one  I  happened  to  see  during  the  wholt 
of  my  stay  in  the  country.  Lights  burned  with  very  long 
wicks,  prayers  and  psalms  were  said  and  sung.  I  did  not 
understand  the  words,  but  I  thought  of  the  old  Spanish  hymn 
of  Prudentius,1  which  we  have  in  our  Danish  psalm-book.  It 
was  the  funeral  of  a  young  girl ;  there  were  numerous  crosses, 
and  flags  with  religious  inscriptions ;  every  individual  in  the 
procession  carried  a  long  thin  wax  candle  lighted,  and  choris- 
ters were  swinging  the  censers.  Aloft,  on  the  shoulders  of 
men  in  masks,  was  borne,  on  a  carpet  embroidered  with  silver, 
the  open  coffin.  A  young  girl  lay  there,  looking  like  a  lovely 
waxen  figure,  almost  covered  with  flowers,  under  the  clear 
starry  firmament  above :  one  might  have  thought  that  she  was 
asleep,  and  that  with  song  and  blessings  they  were  carrying 
her  to  her  sleeping  chamber. 

All  the  spectators  on  the  balconies,  and  all  who  met  the  pro- 
cession in  the  street,  saluted  the  dead  —  she  who  in  her  deep 
repose  was  some  steps  nearer  to  the  last  portals  than  all  of  us 
who  were  living.  I  gazed  at  the  procession  until  it  had  passed 
the  church,  and  the  last  light  had  disappeared. 

The  evening  was  calm,  and  the  stars  were  shining  brightly ; 
suddenly  we  heard  again  castanets,  young  hearts  were  meet- 
ing or  longing  to  meet.  And  now  there  came  a  harsh,  jin- 
gling, rumbling  noise ;  it  was  the  diligence,  drawn  by  twelve 
mules,  hung  with  bells  and  jingling  brass  ornaments  as  usual ; 
they  passed  on,  the  lantern  in  front  of  the  mayoral  glimmered 
over  the  trotting  mules,  and  again  all  was  stillness  on  the 
Plaza  ani  in  the  streets;  the  guitars  and  castanets  were 
hushed,  and  all  was  quiet  above  and  beneath.  How  large  and 
how  clear  the  stars  looked ;  How  light  and  yet  how  warm 
the  air  was !  It  was  pleasant  to  live  and  to  breathe  in ! 

How  long  was  our  stay  at  Murcia  to  be  ?     That  would  be 
decided  by  the  first  steamer  that  went  from   Cartagena  to 
Malaga.     We  determined  to  wait  eight  days  for  it,  but  not 
1  Med  Sorgen  og  Klagen  hold  Maade. 


MURCIA.  57 

longer :  if  it  did  not  arrive  within  that  time,  we  would  have 
to  go  back  to  Alicante,  whence  the  steamboats  take  their 
departure  at  regular  periods. 

One  of  our  friends  at  Murcia  telegraphed  for  us  to  Carta- 
gena ;  and  the  telegram  which  came  in  reply  announced,  that 
a  steamer  to  Malaga  was  expected,  and  that  we  had  better 
next  day  take  the  six  hours'  journey  to  Cartagena. 

At  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  diligence  was  to  start 
from  the  same  place,  where  four  days  previously  we  had  been 
set  down.  The  filthy  pepita  stood  there  again  in  her  fiery-red 
skirt  and  orange-colored  handkerchief,  with  fresh  flowers  on 
her  still  greasy  hair.  The  diligence  we  were  to  go  by  seemed 
to  be  composed  of  two  wooden  booths  nailed  together.  Collin 
and  I  with  an  old  clerical  gentleman,  entered  the  foremost 
booth :  the  shutters  between  us  and  the  shop  behind  were  im- 
mediately opened,  so  that  we  had  constantly  a  cold  draught  on 
our  necks,  and  six  people  as  ballast.  There  was  a  frightful 
coquette,  an  affected  servant  girl ;  she  jabbered  without  ceas- 
ing ;  there  was  an  elderly  dame,  fat  and  coarse,  a  lump  of 
sleeping  flesh :  in  the  farthest  corner  sat  a  person  in  curiously 
patched  attire  ;  it  was  a  question  which  rag  on  his  coat  or  his 
pantaloons  had  originally  belonged  to  these  garments.  There 
were  three  other  people,  one  of  whom  seemed  to  belong  to  a 
better  class ;  he  had  a  frill  to  his  shirt,  and  a  glittering  breast- 
pin, but  his  linen  looked  as  if  it  required  to  pass  through  the 
hands  of  a  laundress.  Tobacco  smoke  and  the  smell  of  onions 
pervaded  the  atmosphere  in  the  carriage.  I  perceived  this  the 
moment  I  put  my  feet  upon  the  steps  to  enter  the  vehicle, 
and  I  was  obliged  to  turn  to  take  a  mouthful  of  less  foul  air. 
Looking  up  toward  the  balcony  of  a  house  near,  I  saw  a 
number  of  women  crowding  there,  making  signs  and  bidding 
adieu  to  their  male  and  female  friends ;  in  the  foremost  rank 
of  them  stood  a  pretty  child,  a  little  girl  seemingly  about  two 
years  of  age.  I  nodded  to  her,  and  she  was  so  much  abashed 
that,  in  her  innocence,  she  drew  up  all  her  little  garments  over 
her  head.  Let  no  one  say  that  the  young  Spaniards  are  not 
bashful. 

And  now  we  rumbled  on  through  a  crowd  of  people  out  of 
the  town,  and  entered  a  shady  alley  with  gardens,  vineyards, 
and  mulberry  groves,  and  took  our  way  far  from  warm  Murcia. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

CARTAGENA. 

FOR  the  first  hour  or  so,  we  drove  through  the  fertile  cam. 
pagna,  but  this  pleasure  was  soon  over ;  the  country  be- 
came stony,  and  burned  up ;  a  strong  penetrating  wind  blew 
from  the  sea;  all  around  was  a  waste  wearisome  to  the  eye, 
and  deserted  by  human  beings.  At  length  we  stopped  before 
a  lonely  building  on  the  roadside,  and  some  tepid  rain-water, 
mixed  with  bad  anisette,  was  offered  to  us  for  sale.  At  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  reached  Cartagena,  and,  through 
very  narrow  gloomy  streets,  Fonda  Francesa,  a  hotel  strongly 
recommended  to  us.  Long  dark  passages,  with  narrow  steep 
steps,  we  had  to  traverse  and  to  mount ;  dismal  and  dingy 
everything  seemed  ;  high  prison-looking  rooms  ;  windows,  with 
iron  bars,  were  placed  so  high  up  that  it  would  have  been 
necessary  to  get  upon  a  table  to  see  out  of  them,  or  rather  to 
see  in  at  the  neighbor's  open  balcony  door,  the  balconies  being 
always  in  near  contact  with  the  opposite  windows.  Such  a 
chamber  was  assigned  to  Collin.  I  obtained  one  with  a  bal- 
cony door,  and  small  glass  panes  in  the  thick  walls.  Here, 
however,  I  was  by  no  means  comfortable,  unless  it  might  be 
called  comfortable  to  live  all  at  once  in  a  family,  and  be  asso- 
ciated with  your  neighbors  without  entering  into  their  apart- 
ments. There  is  the  width  of  a  street  intervening,  but  that 
might  be  easily  overcome  ;  one  jump,  and  you  would  be  among 
the  family.  The  curtains  opposite  had  been  drawn  back  :  there 
was  no  sunshine  except  in  the  young  Senora's  eyes,  and  I 
should  have  been  wrong  to  have  excluded  that  sunshine  from 
my  apartment. 

Here,  in  a  town  of  Africa, 

Cartagena  called,  I  dwell, 
In  a  small  and  narrow  street, 

So  narrow  you  can't  tell. 


CARTAGENA.  59 

And  easily  my  hand  might  reach 

To  yonder  balcony  in  sooth, 
Where  the  lovely  daughter  sits 

In  all  the  charms  of  youth. 

Her  rounded  form  is  full  of  grace, 

Her  long  dark  hair,  when  'tis  unbound, 

With  its  glossy  ringlets  falls 
Until  it  sweeps  the  ground. 

Her  shoulders  are  like  the  antique, 

Her  eyes  are  like  the  lightning's  flash ; 

To  meet  that  beauty's  flaming  glance 
The  mortal  must  be  rash- 

The  air  has  Afric's  burning  heat, 

The  blood,  like  it  is  full  of  fire ; 
So  my  lamp  I  will  put  out, 

And  discreetly  shall  retire  ! 

At  a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning  —  it  was  scarcely  four 
o'clock  —  I  heard  a  knocking  at  my  door,  and  a  lad  told  me 
that  the  steamer  for  Malaga  had  arrived,  and  was  to  start  early 
that  morning.  I  confess  I  was  much  vexed ;  I  was  tired  of 
travelling,  and  had  as  yet  seen  nothing  of  Cartagena.  The 
lad  said  something  about  a  ship  that  was  to  sail  for  Malaga 
the  next  day,  or  the  day  after ;  and  when  I  heard  of  the  chance, 
I  almost  made  up  my  mind  to  stop. 

Our  Danish  Consul,  a  Spaniard  —  Bartolomeo  Spottarno,  — 
received  me  with  much  kindness,  and  requested  his  son,  who 
is  Russian  Vice-Consul,  and  who,  having  been  educated  in 
Germany,  spoke  German  well,  to  be  a  guide  to  me  and  my 
travelling  companion,  and  he  was  a  most  excellent  one ;  we 
could  not  have  wished  a  better  cicerone ;  none  could  have  been 
more  intelligent  and  more  lively. 

Through  Puerto,  del  Mar  we  reached  the  harbor ;  it  is  of 
great  extent,  and  tremendously  deep :  a  rocky  island  shelters 
it  from  the  winds  ;  the  forts  Fuerte  de  Navidad,  and  the  castle 
of  Santa  Barbara,  protect  it  from  foes.  More  wild,  more 
rugged  scenery  than  this  place  exhibited,  I  have  never  beheld ; 
not  a  tree,  not  a  bush,  not  even  a  hardy  cactus  was  to  b§  seen. 
The  rocks,  both  near  and  at  a  distance,  had  the  reddish-yellow 
look  of  peat  ashes.  Silver  mines  are  found  in  the  mountains, 


6O  IN  SPAIN. 

and  in  the  valleys  grows  so  richly  the  jEsfiarta-grass,  that  the 
town  near  has  derived  its  name,  Spartana,  from  it.  When,  in 
about  a  couple  of  years,  the  railroad  is  finished  between  Mad- 
rid and  Cartagena,  the  harbor  here  will  doubtless  become  the 
most  frequented  of  all  the  harbors  in  Spain.  Accompanied 
by  a  young  naval  officer,  a  relation  of  our  Consul,  we  crossed 
in  a  boat  to  the  arsenal,  and  saw  the  enormous  wharves  and 
docks,  a  deep  rocky  basin  :  galley-slaves  were  working  every- 
where. For  the  moment,  work  and  everything  seemed  to  give 
place  to  the  excitement  of  the  Queen's  expected  visit.  In 
several  of  the  rooms  people  were  employed  in  carving  and 
daubing  shields,  painting  transparencies,  and  preparing  various 
articles  of  ornament  for  the  occasion ;  a  pretty  garden  was 
being  laid  out ;  earth,  plants,  and  flowers  were  being  brought 
to  it. 

Cartagena  lies  low :  only  one  street  ascends  the  rocky  coast 
a  little  way ;  the  view  from  this  place  over  the  bay  and  the  sea 
is  very  fine.  I  mounted  this  hilly  street  alone,  and  higher 
and  higher  I  went.  I  met  a  peasant  on  his  mule  with  two  full 
heavy  sacks  before  him  ;  one  of  them  had  burst  open  ;  out  of 
it  dripped  portions  of  a  yellow  ochre  and  red  mass ;  they  had 
to  mend  the  bag  with  some  rags  and  needle  and  thread :  it  was 
the  red  Almagro  earth  he  was  carrying ;  it  was  dug  up  at  a 
village  close  by,  he  informed  me,  and  was  used  to  mix  with 
tobacco  snuff.  I  proceeded  a  little  farther  until  I  came  to  a 
house  without  windows ;  all  the  light  admitted  into  the  interior 
was  through  the  open  door ;  outside  of  it  sat  an  extremely 
pretty  young  girl  mending  her  red  petticoat ;  it  was  a  large  tear, 
therefore  she  had  taken  the  garment  off,  and  was  holding  it  in 
her  lap.  Close  by  her  stood  a  little  boy  in  a  very  short  tunic  ; 
he  leaned  against  the  door-post,  and  played  the  castanets, 
though  he  did  not  draw  powerful  tones.  I  passed  on,  but  had 
to  return  the  same  way ;  large  drops  of  rain  were  falling,  and 
presently  a  heavy  shower  came  on,  and  I  had  to  take  refuge 
in  the  house  without  windows,  where  the  little  boy  with  the 
castanets  and  the  young  beauty  lived.  She  chatted  to  me  as 
if  I  were  a  resident  of  Cartagena,  and  as  if  we  had  often  seen 
each  other ;  but  in  her  demeanor  she  was  so  feminine,  so  charm- 


CARTAGENA.  6 1 

ing,  she  might  well  have  been  the  daughter  of  a  nobleman :  she 
held  her  head  as  high  as  if  all  Cartagena  belonged  to  her,  and 
she  were  attired  in  silk  and  gold,  and  yet  she  only  wore  a  red 
petticoat.  She  showed  the  little  boy  how  he  ought  to  play  the 
castanets,  and  did  so  with  an  earnestness  that  was  amusing. 
The  rain  stopped  too  soon,  and  only  the  heavy  rain  afforded  me 
any  pretense  for  remaining ;  but  as  I  walked  away  I  heard  the 
sound  of  the  castanets.  I  heard  it  even  as  far  as  the  com- 
mencement of  the  steep  street ;  there,  however,  other  castanets 
drowned  the  more  distant  ones  ;  and  when  I  reached  my  room, 
castanets  sounded  from  the  house  of  the  opposite  neighbor. 
There  were  some  pretty  daughters  in  that  house,  and  some 
young  soldiers  had  come  to  visit  them :  they  had  thrown  off 
their  jackets,  and  the  castanets  were  in  full  operation,  perform- 
ing not  only  simple  melodies,  but  more  difficult  passages ; 
their  playing  was  quite  artistic.  Dancing  then  commenced : 
they  laughed,  they  sung,  they  played  on  the  guitar,  until  the 
warm  day  had  given  place  to  the  starry  night  I  sat  on  my 
balcony,  and  looked  on  with  pleasure  at  the  gayety  of  youth. 

With  castanets  they  danced, 

Their  only  music  this  : 
Their  eyes  into  each  other's  glanced, 

Quaffing  sweet  draughts  of  bliss. 

They  whirled  just  like  Bacchantes  round, 

Their  strength  combined  with  grace  ; 
O  !  what  beauty  may  be  found 

Oft  in  the  human  race. 

A  pomegranate  and  lovely  pink 

They  looked,  that  happy  pair  — 
The  votaries  of  art  might  think 

They  formed  a  picture  rare. 

Yes  !  They  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  they  read  their 
future  in  the  sparkling  stars  above ;  they  looked  up  toward 
the  brilliant  heavens,  toward  the  infinite  !  Ah,  happy  youth  ! 
They  kissed  each  other  without  seeming  to  notice  that  I  could 
see  them,  and  the  respectable-looking  old  lady  in  the  black 
mantilla  saw  them  too  •  she  was  probably  the  mother,  and  if 
so,  that  kiss  was  a  betrothal.  How  delightful  to  be  thus 


v- 

62  IN  SPAIN. 

young  and  joyous  !     It  was  a  warm  night,  and  they  came  out 
on  the  balcony. 

How  bright  the  stars  of  heav'n  !     Each  one  I  know ; 
Friends  from  my  distant  home  they  seem  to  glow ; 
They  send  a  breeze  refreshing  all,  a  sweet, 
A  cooling  drink  amidst  this  scorching  heat. 
The  light  wind  sweeping  o'er  the  burning  sand, 
Seems  like  a  kiss  from  the  dear  Danish  land. 

No  steamer  leaves  any  Spanish  port  on  a  Sunday,  therefore 
we  knew  on  Saturday  evening  .that  we  had  at  least  a  whole 
day  to  remain  here  ;  Collin  determined  to  spend  the  time  in 
visiting  the  silver  mines.  More  active  than  I  was  in  travers- 
ing long  and  toilsome  roads,  he  went  about  on  foot,  and  saw 
much  more  than  I  was  able  to  do  of  the  environs  of  the  town. 
From  the  hills  of  Barcelona,  Valencia,  and  Murcia,  he 
brought  home  scientific  collections,  and  had  many  an  amusing 
story  to  tell  about  the  Spanish  peasants.  Before  he  reached 
the  silver  mines  the  rain  was  falling  in  torrents  ;  I  spent  most 
of  the  day  in  reading  the  newspapers  at  Circulo  Cartagenero, 
the  club  of  the  town,  to  which  we  had  been  introduced  by  the 
younger  Spottarno.  The  pretty  rooms  surrounded  a  court 
paved  with  marble  ;  it  is  the  grand  saloon,  with  the  sky  for 
its  roof:  under  the  roof  hung  to-day  heavy  rainy  clouds, 
which  soon  emptied  themselves,  so  that  the  water  quite 
flooded  the  marble  floor,  and  it  became  necessary  to  put 
down  as  many  defenses  as  could  be  found  among  the  pillars 
before  the  open  apartments,  to  prevent  their  being  also  under 
water. 

The  rain  did  not  play  a  poor  part  in  Cartagena :  on  one  of 
:he  table-lands  just  over  the  town,  the  rain-water  formed  a 
perfect  lake,  and  if  this  overflowed,  it  poured  down  upon  Car- 
tagena. Another  disagreeable  guest -here  is  the  so-called 
Mistral,  —  a  cold  and  biting  wind  ;  we  were  also  doomed  to 
become  acquainted  with  it.  The  wind  rose  to  a  terrible  pitch, 
and  at  the  same  time  came  the  intelligence  that  after  midnight 
the  steamer  Ne  plus  ultra  would  arrive  and  would  take 
up  the  passengers  for  Malaga.  We  were  to  go  with  it,  and  it 
was  blowing  a  gale  of  wind,  which  might  perhaps  subside  the 
next  morning,  or  might  last  for  two  or  three  days.  It  was  a 


CARTAGENA.  63 

pleasant  anticipation.  The  wind  howled  over  Cartagena,  and 
amidst  the  long  streets,  and  tore  through  the  houses.  It 
sounded  on  the  air  like  tones  of  misery.  Verdi  has  in  his 
opera  "  Rigoletto,"  in  the  effect  scenes  of  the  last  act,  this 
moaning  of  the  wind  imitated  by  human  voices.  The  sea  was 
doubtless  in  a  state  of  wild  uproar,  and  yet  we  had  to  venture 
on  it ;  it  threw  me  into  a  fever  even  to  think  of  it. 

The  storm  still  raged,  yet  we  had  to  go.  We  felt  a  good 
deal  of  anxiety  and  uneasiness ;  there  was  no  hope  of  any 
comfort ;  none  was  whispered  by  the  wind  or  waves,  but  my 
heart  said :  — 

How  my  thoughts  to  the  morrow  will  fly  ! 
Ah,  none  on  the  future  can  count : 

Like  a  sunken  wreck,  I  may  lie, 
And  the  drop  from  Eternity's  fount  — 

My  earthly  life  !     It  may  die. 

My  mind  was  harassed,  and  I  fought 

A  battle  within  me,  but  when 
In  the  prayer  of  my  childhood  I  sought 

For  peace,  it  was  granted  me  then, 
And  my  spirit  submission  was  taught. 

It  was  our  last  night  in  Cartagena,  Hasdrubal's  town,  and 
on  it  I  dreamed  that  I  was  walking  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Singular  plants,  as  splendid  as  the  palm-trees  of  Elche,  waved 
around  me  :  I  beheld  magnificent  pearls,  but  none  of  them 
was  so  beautiful  as  the  eyes  I  had  seen  in  Spain :  above  me 
rolled  the  ocean,  with  its  solemn  tones  so  like  an  organ  and  a 
holy  song.  I  was  a  prisoner  in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  and 
longed  for  life  above  its  surface  in  the  clear,  bright  sunshine. 

Next  morning  early,  when  I  woke  up,  the  weather  was 
charming  ;  the  storm  had  ceased,  every  cloud  had  vanished, 
not  the  slightest  breeze  was  stirring.  The  harbor  was  like  a 
mirror ;  and  on  the  sea,  as  far  as  we  could  discern,  there  was 
a  dead  calm.  The  screw-steamer  Ne  plus  ultra  lay  with 
its  flag  floating  in  the  air.  We  went  on  board,  and  enjoyed 
for  several  hours  the  view  of  Cartagena  and  its  bare  volcanic 
hills ;  it  was  two  o'clock  before  we  reached  the  open  sea. 

According  to  the  published  bills,  it  was  a  genuine  Spanish 


64  IN  SPAIN. 

craft  in  which  we  had  embarked,  and  filthy  enough  it  was. 
The  deck  was  crowded  with  a  multitude  of  passengers  from 
other  places  :  there  were  dirty  children,  tumbling,  uncontrolled, 
about  the  deck  ;  their  parents  were  engaged  in  spreading  about 
some  sort  of  couches,  for  the  comfort  and  repose  of  their  fami- 
lies. Collin  and  I  were  the  only  occupants  of  the  best  cabin ; 
it  was  low,  narrow,  and  with  nasty  sofa  pillows.  In  order  to 
be  able  to  sleep  there  at  night,  I  had  to  get  out  of  my  port- 
manteau a  clean  linen  garment  and  wrap  it  round  my  pillow ; 
it  was  too  shockingly  dirty  to  approach  it  without  a  covering. 
The  mate  and  the  chief  engineer,  just  as  they  left  their  employ- 
ments, without  any  ablutions  whatever,  took  their  places  at  the 
dinner-table ;  but  they  were  good-natured,  unassuming  men, 
and  the  mate  not  only  knew  Hamburg,  but  even  Copenhagen, 
so  far  north  had  he  been.  On  deck  the  sun  was  very  warm ; 
we  had  no  awning ;  the  sea  was  tranquil,  and  it  became  more 
and  more  calm,  —  quite  the  reverse  of  what  during  the  stormy 
night  at  Cartagena  I  had  pictured  to  myself.  The  sea  was 
sleeping,  and  my  fears  also  slept ;  but  they  awoke  again  when 
darkness  came,  and  I  was  lying  in  the  cabin,  where  the  lamp 
had  gone  out,  for  no  one  took  any  care  of  it.  The  screw  of 
the  vessel  made  a  frightful  noise ;  something  seemed  to  have 
gone  wrong  in  the  machinery,  and  it  sounded  as  if  they  were 
working  on  a  hole  in  the  hull.  Every  moment  we  appeared 
to  be  knocking  against  or  scraping  over  some  rocky  ground. 
I  could  not  understand  it,  or  make  out  what  was  going  on ; 
so  I  crawled  from  the  dark  below,  up  to  the  equally  dark  deck, 
where  not  a  sailor  but  the  man  at  the  helm  was  to  be  seen : 
the  deck  passengers  lay  hidden  under  sacks,  cloaks,  and  pieces 
of  carpet.  I  looked  over  the  side  of  the  ship  into  the  deep 
sea ;  large,  strange-looking  fishes  emitted  light  as  they  darted 
about. 

As  I  was  groping  my  way  down  again  in  the  dark  to  the 
cabin,  I  met  the  captain  on  the  stairs,  the  most  active  of  them 
all.  He  was  very  polite,  and  had  the  lamp  lighted  again,  but 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  sleep.  The  strange  noises  contin- 
ued, so  that  at  last  I  settled  it  in  my  own  mind  that  we  had 
run  too  near  the  land,  and  things  were  not  going  on  right.  I 
crawled  up  again  on  deck ;  the  vessel  was  moving  like  a  death 
ship,  without  a  living  being  to  be  seen. 


CARTAGENA.  65 

At  length  light  began  to  streak  the  horizon ;  the  heavens  and 
the  sea  became  the  color  of  wine  ;  dolphins  sprang  from  the 
surface  of  the  water,  threw  somersaults  in  the  fresh  air,  and 
settled  and  flocked  round  the  ship,  as  if  they  were  waiting  for 
their  Arion.  The  captain  made  the  steamer  slacken  its  speed, 
else  we  should  arrive  too  early,  he  said,  at  Malaga.  The 
Health  Committee  were  not  early  risers ;  and  until  they  had 
been  on  board,  we  should  not  be  permitted  to  land :  this  was 
the  custom  in  Spanish  harbors.  At  last  we  steered  round 
the  light-house  into  the  harbor,  and  before  us  lay  Malaga, 
with  its  white  houses,  its  magnificent  cathedral,  and  its  ele- 
vated Gibralfaro,  once  a  strong  Moorish  fortress. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

MALAGA. 

WE  were  most  anxious  to  land.  The  sun  burned  furi- 
ously, and  the  coal-dust  from  the  chimneys  lay  thick 
on  the  deck,  on  the  gunwale,  and  on  the  seats :  it  was  anything 
but  pleasant.  All  around  we  saw  people  and  goods  being 
landed  and  brought  on  board.  Sailors  and  ragged  boys  lay  in 
boats  below,  to  take  us  ashore.  They  made  signs,  they 
shouted,  they  fastened  their  boats  to  the  steamer ;  but  no  boat 
from  the  Health  Committee  was  to  be  seen,  and  we  were  there- 
fore obliged  to  remain.  The  harbor  was  full  of  merchant- 
men, and  among  these  several  from  Denmark.  Not  less  than 
twenty-five  Danish  ships  were  here,  I  was  told  afterwards. 
The  white  cross  on  the  red  ground  was  waving  a  greeting  from 
home,  and  seemed  a  pledge  that  we  should  find  ourselves  at 
home  in  Malaga.  One  of  the  passengers,  the  director  of  a 
manufactory,  from  Almaden,  took  charge  of  us  when  at  length 
we  did  land,  and  conducted  us  to  Fonda  del  Oriente,  a  well- 
managed  hotel,  where  Spanish,  French,  and  German  were 
spoken.  One  of  the  waiters,  a  young  man  from  Berlin,  was 
particularly  attentive  to  us.  He  considered  us  as  country- 
men. 

Our  balcony  looked  out  on  the  Alameda,  with  its  green 
trees,  fountains,  and  numerous  promenaders.  There  went 
bare-legged  Bedouins  in  their  white  burnooses,  African  Jews 
in  long  embroidered  kaftans,  Spanish  women  in  their  becom- 
ing black  mantillas,  ladies  of  higher  rank  in  bright-colored 
shawls,  elegant-looking  young  men  on  foot  and  on  horseback, 
peasants  and  porters  ;  all  was  life  and  animation.  An  awning 
shaded  our  balcony,  and  there  we  sat  and  contemplated  the 
stirring  scene  on  the  Alameda,  and  enjoyed  a  view  of  the 
harbor  and  the  sea.  The  waiter  brought  us  some  English 


MALAGA.  67 

ale.  It  was  like  nectar,  after  our  having  drank  nothing  for 
several  weeks  but  heating  wine,  and  tepid  water  with  anisette. 
This  seems  a  thriving  place.  The  sun  set,  and  evening  came 
on.  I  sat  with  a  paper  cigar,  such  as  the  Spaniards  make. 
The  first  whiff  has  always  a  cigar  taste ;  the  second  —  well, 
one  is  smoking  !  The  stump  of  the  cigar  is  cast  away,  to  take 
a  new  paper  cigar,  or,  better  still,  a  real  cigar.  In  the  woi  Id 
of  art,  these  poets  and  poetesses,  these  male  and  female  song- 
sters, of  whom  people  soon  get  tired,  are  only  paper.  Away 
with  the  stumps!  Here  comes  an  Havana!  Teach  me, 
paper  cigars,  like  you,  in  my  works  to  leave  off  dreaming  of  a 
name  and  renown  !  Teach  me  to  know  that  I  shall  be  cast 
aside  ;  that  my  life  is  only  a  vapor,  of  consequence  to  none  I 
This  mood  came  over  me  —  and  it  fled  when  I  got  the  good 
cigar. 

The  candles  were  now  lighted,  for  daylight  had  gone.  The 
stars  were  beginning  to  shine,  the  crowd  increased  beneath ; 
the  promenaders  went  under  the  trees  on  the  level  ground ; 
riders  and  persons  driving  kept  the  paved  road.  A  band  of 
musicians  were  playing  airs  from  "  Norma "  ;  my  thoughts 
turned  into  verse,  on  the  sweet  southern  evening. 

Under  the  lofty  trees  they  throng, 

That  skirt  the  Alameda  nigh, 
Bright  gas  lamps  cast  their  blaze  around  ; 

The  new  moon  lights  yon  distant  sky. 

The  murmur  of  the  sea  is  hushed, 

No  breeze  sighs  through  the  tranquil  air  ; 

The  very  clouds,  like  marble  forms, 
In  the  deep  stillness  seem  to  share. 

Do  these  unchanging  clouds  not  bring 

Sweet  thoughts  of  a  dear  northern  strand  ? 

Yon  ocean  is  the  pathway  to 
My  own,  my  much-loved  native  land  ! 

I  felt  myself  impelled  to  go  down  to  the  Alameda,  down 
among  the  crowd  ;  pretty  women,  with  black  eyes  full  of  fire, 
were  there  to  be  seen.  They  waved,  with  peculiar  grace, 
their  dark,  spangled  fans,  and  showed  how  much  truth  there 
is  in  the  old  Spanish  verse,  — 


68  IN  SPAIN. 

Una  muger  malagnena, 

Tiene  en  sus  ojos  un  sol ; 
En  su  sonrisa  la  aurora  ; 

Y  un  para'iso  en  su  amor. 

Here  these  lines  were  carried  out  by  living  illustrations. 
The  people  all  looked  in  high  good  humor,  as  if  life  showed 
only  to  them  its  sunny  side,  beaming  with  joy  and  freshness. 
Malaga,  charming  town,  I  feel  myself  at  home  in  thee  !  I  ex- 
claimed gayly  — 

No  mortal  do  I  know,  and  nobody  knows  me  ; 
One  of  the  seven  sleepers  is  what  I  seem  to  be  ; 
I  wander  here  alone,  as  if  midst  a  new  race, 
Strange  alike  to  me  are  the  people  and  the  place. 

A  pleasant  thing  it  is,  just  like  a  straw  to  drift 
Here,  there,  and  everywhere,  upon  the  current  swift. 
Would  that  1  might,  in  the  straw's  fashion,  greet 
With  kisses  eveiy  flower  that  on  the  stream  I  meet ! 

It  is  exceedingly  warm  in  Malaga.  And  what  is  the  soil  on 
which  one  treads  here  ?  To  whom  does  it  belong  ?  From  the 
sea  mounted  Venus  Anadyomene ;  the  bottom  of  the  sea  here 
is  her  maternal  inheritance  ;  it  was  thence  she  raised  herself 
from  the  ocean.  The  whole  of  the  long  street  close  by,  where 
the  Danish  flag  waves  from  the  Consul's  house  ;  the  space 
which  is  covered  with  warehouses,  and  the  green-painted  birds' 
cages  on  the  low  roofs,  is  won  from  the  sea,  the  property  of 
Venus  Anadyomene.  In  the  time  of  the  Moors,  the  sea  rolled 
over  the  sands  up  to  Malaga's  massive  walls.  Of  these  even 
now  a  remnant  still  stands  near  the  Alameda ;  the  horseshoe- 
shaped  arch  which  forms  the  entrance  tells  us  at  once  in 
whose  time  it  was  built,  and  that  this  was  one  of  the  entrances 
to  the  town.  Not  far  off,  in  a  crooked,  narrow  street,  still  re- 
main a  couple  of  old  Moorish  houses,  with  whitewashed  walls  ; 
part  of  the  whitewash,  portions  here  and  there  have  peeled  off, 
revealing  marble  pillars.  In  the  little  court  are  still  to  be 
seen  large  marble  ornaments.  Many  of  them  are  plastered 
over  ;  clumsy  buildings  are  raised,  as  if  to  destroy  all  vestiges  of 
the  original  beauty.  Who  resided  here  in  the  olden  times? 
No  one  knows  that.  At  present  it  is  made  use  of  as  a  hard 


MALAGA. 


69 


ware  shop.  In  the  shop  towered  slender  marble  columns, 
with  rich  architectural  ornaments  under  the  carved  wooden 
roof ;  steep  stone  -  staircases  and  narrow  passages  unite  a 
number  of  apartments,  in  every  one  of  which  are  to  be  seen 
magnificent  relics  of  times  long  gone  by.  The  roof  is  fin- 
ished by  a  cupola  —  "a  scooped-out  orange,"  it  is  called  — 
and  is  ornamented  with  gilding,  and  with  lozenges  of  various 
inlaid  woods.  One  might  fancy  that  the  spirit  of  departed 
ages  still  dreamed  in  here  —  but  what  it  dreams  is  a  mystery 
to  us. 

One  passes  with  slow  steps  through  these  interesting  cham- 
bers ;  one  lingers  there,  and  is  unwilling  to  leave  them.  One 
feels  the  same  sort  of  melancholy  pleasure  as  when,  at  a  pawn- 
broker's shop,  amidst  all  manner  of  articles,  is  dragged  forth 
an  old  portrait  remarkable  for  something  very  characteristic, 
or  for  extreme  beauty.  One  knows  that  it  is  many,  many 
scores  of  years  since  the  original  of  that  figure  was  living  and 
blooming  on  this  earth.  Of  her  history  and  fate  we  know 
nothing.  A  bandeau  of  pearls,  the  materials  of  her  rich  attire, 
or  her  complexion  and  features,  are  some  guide  to  the  imagi- 
nation. Thus  also,  in  these  elegantly  built  rooms,  with  their 
light,  graceful  windows,  and  their  lofty,  fantastic  roofs,  one 
speculates  upon  the  life  that  was  formerly  led  here.  Perhaps 
skillful  hands  labored  herein  and  created  masterpieces  of  art, 
such  as  at  different  places  we  have  seen  and  admired.  Per- 
haps sparkled  here  the  most  beautiful  eyes  in  Malaga ;  or  a 
poet  may  have  lived  here,  and  to  the  melodious  tones  of  a  lute 
may  have  composed  those  verses  which  are  now  sung  by  the 
voices  of  the  people.  Perhaps  the  clash  of  weapons  was  the 
music  dearest  to  him  who  once,  under  the  Khalifs  of  Omija- 
den,  called  this  dwelling  his  own. 

Another  building  stands  near  this,  richer  and  more  betoken- 
ing the  position  of  its  ancient  owner.  The  open  colonnade 
which  led  out  to  the  court  is  indeed  walled  up,  but  the  columns 
with  their  arches  still  distinctly  stand  forward  ;  the  pretty  open 
Moorish  window-frames  have  been  preserved.  To  be  sure, 
the  rooms  and  saloons  are  crowded  with  cases  and  all  man- 
ner of  lumber,  but  all  this  cannot  deprive  these  chambers  of 
*heir  ancient  grandeur.  The  beautifully  carved  and  gilded 


70  IN  SPAIN. 

roofs  seemed  as  if  only  a  few  years  old,  and  the  ornaments  on 
the  walls  looked  fresh.  In  the  centre  of  one  of  the  rooms  we 
beheld  an  elegant  marble  basin,  with  its  dried-up  iron  pipe, 
through  which  formerly  water  streamed  in,  shedding  coolness 
around.  Outside,  in  one  of  the  high  walls  which  inclose  the 
garden,  even  now  water  murmurs  in  long,  hollowed,  marble 
conduits ;  flowers  grew  luxuriantly  in  the  conduits  and  crev- 
ices ;  a  mighty  palm  raised  its  leafy  shelter  high  over  a  thicket 
of  orange-trees  and  rose-bushes.  Beautiful  indeed  was  it  all, 
though  everything  seemed  given  over  to  decay  —  left  entirely 
to  itself.  In  times  gone  by,  this  garden  was  tended  and  culti- 
vated. How  charming  then,  after  the  oppressively  hot  day,  to 
assemble  here,  in  the  clear  starry  evening,  or  in  the  bright 
moonlight !  Jets  d'eaux  glittered  among  the  fragrant  trees. 
Many  a  happy  moment  has  perhaps  been  spent  here,  perhaps 
moments  of  agony.  When  the  Christians  were  encamped  out- 
side of  the  walls,  and  distress  and  want  were  rife  within,  Gib- 
ralfaro,  the  fortress  above,  was  determined  to  hold  out  to  the 
last  man. 

It  was  my  amusement  to  fancy,  during  my  wanderings  here, 
that  the  warm  sunshine  was  a  magic  veil,  cast  over  the  old 
place  and  the  old  garden,  in  which  all  lay  in  a  state  of  deep 
repose ;  that  when  the  veil  was  raised,  the  magic  power 
would  also  vanish,  the  fountains  would  then  play  in  the  marble 
basins,  the  trees  and  flowers  would  bloom  more  fieshly,  Moor- 
ish men  and  women  would  arise  from  their  death-sleep  to  life 
and  labor ! 

When  I  left  this  place  of  old  memories,  I  heard  in  the  street 
the  sound  of  castanets.  Under  the  shadow  of  a  house  sat  a 
young,  pretty  Gitana,  selling  chestnuts ;  there  came  peasants 
with  baskets  full  of  figs  and  dates  ;  heavy  bunches  of  ripe 
grapes  lay  above  each  other  amidst  the  pretty  brownish-red 
vine  leaves.  From  the  dying  reminiscences  of  the  past,  one 
went  forth  into  real  active  life  ;  it  was  a  pleasure  to  go  wher- 
ever your  feet  might  carry  you.  Everywhere  was  something 
•lew  to  engage  your  attention,  one  picture  of  life  in  the  south 
quickly  succeeded  another.  On  one  of  the  Plazas,  surrounded 
by  cafe's  and  shops,  stands  the  statue  of  a  pretty  female :  it 
holds  in  its  hand  a  torch,  which  is  lighted  every  evening.  It 


MALAGA.  Ji 

is  as  if  you  saw  the  enchantress  Circe  petrified  from  departed 
ages,  awaking  into  the  warmth  of  life,  and  waiting  until  the 
dead  shall  rise,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  world  of  poetry,  when 
their  poet  shall  have  come  to  celebrate  this  place  as  Wash- 
ington Irving  did  the  Alhambra. 

Through  crooked,  irregular  streets,  you  reach,  from  this 
place,  the  immense  Cathedral  of  Malaga,  which  stands  like  a 
mountain  hewn  out  of  marble,  commanding  in  its  vastness  the 
whole  town.  When  seen  from  the  sea,  it  is  a  most  imposing 
structure.  Here  you  come  out  again  upon  the  Alameda ;  and 
if  you  continue  straight  up  to  the  river  Guadalmedina,  you  find 
yourself  in  that  part  of  Malaga  where  the  life  of  the  lower 
classes  is  the  most  stirring,  and  that  is  not  on  the  Plaza  above, 
but  down  below,  nearly  in  the  river's  bed.  The  river  had  been 
almost  for  a  year  entirely  without  water,  and  now,  in  its  dried-up 
state,  it  had  been  converted  into  a  market-place.  Horses  and 
asses  stood  in  it,  bound  in  pairs ;  viands  were  being  cooked  in 
pots  and  pans  over  blazing  fires  ;  tables  and  plates  were  laid ; 
—  it  would  have  made  a  good  sketch  !  Meanwhile,  if  a  tor- 
rent of  rain  came  on  —  a  heavy  shower  amidst  the  hills  —  then 
the  bed  of  the  river  would  fill  suddenly,  the  water  would  rush 
with  wild  velocity  toward  the  sea,  carrying  everything  with  it. 
There  is  no  time  for  flight.  It  is  related  that,  last  spring 
some  oxen  attached  to  a  wagon  were  quietly  drinking,  when 
they  were  carried  off  by  the  current,  as  they  were  not  near 
enough  to  the  bank  of  the  river  to  escape.  At  the  time  we 
saw  it,  the  bed  of  the  river  looked  as  if  there  had  been  no  rain 
for  years. 

It  was  an  extraordinary  spectacle. 

The  bed  of  the  river  is  dry  ; 

As  a  high  road  now  it  serves  ; 
And  a  market  and  shops  are  there ; 

The  counters  are  stones  :  one  observes 
Here,  for  sale,  all  sorts  of  odd  things,  — 

Twine,  snails,  fruit,  old  iron,  are  found. 
For  this  picture  the  high  arid  hills 

Form  a  fitting  frame-work  around. 
Peasants,  with  guns  in  their  hands, 

With  each  in  his  belt  a 


72  IN  SPAIN. 

Ride  on  their  rough-clad  mules ; 
All  around  is  bustle  and  life. 

On  a  sudden  the  scene  is  changed, 

And  O  what  torrents  of  rain ! 
Roaring  streams  from  the  mountains  flow, 

And  every  defense  is  in  vain. 
All  fly  —  while  the  river's  bed 

With  the  rushing  flood  o'erflows  : 
Its  raging,  wanton  course, 

All  in  its  way  o'erthrows ; 
Cacti  and  palms  it  sweeps 

In  its  furious  haste  away ; 
Remembrance  of  this  scene 

In  my  thoughts  will  ever  stay. 

Collin  and  I  drove  for  at  least  a  mile  in  the  empty  bed  of 
the  river.     One  of  the  rich  merchants  of  Malaga,  M.  Delius, 
to  whom  I  had  brought  an  introduction,  had  invited  us  to  make 
this  excursion.     He  wished  to  take  us  to  his  villa  and  its  beau- 
tiful garden ;  an  impenetrable  hedge  of  gigantic  cacti,  crowding 
the  sides  of  the  hill,  fenced  it  in.     The  garden,  laid  out  in 
the  form  of  terraces,  was  rich  in  trees  of  every  variety ;  there 
was  a  grateful  shade  under  the  orange-trees  and  the  bananas. 
Tall    pepper-trees,   with    their    reddish-colored    berries,  like 
strings  of  beads,  were  drooping,  as  willows  do,  their  boughs 
over  the  clear  greenish  water  in  the  basins.     Here  stood  lofty 
palm-trees,  and  rarer  pines ;  here  also  were  citro-trees,  and 
high,  blossoming  geraniums  ;  passion-flowers  hung  in  masses, 
like  the  honeysuckle  on  our  village  hedges.     Here  flourished 
in  the  sunshine  extraordinary  lily-shaped  flowers :  I  thought  I 
recognized  them  from  the  arabesque  designs  of  gold  and  silver 
I  have  seen  in  the  old  story-books.     The  most  expensive  plant 
here,  I  was  told,  was  the  green  grass,     h  couple  of  large  fields 
looked  so  fresh,  and  were  kept  in  such  beautiful  order,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  each  blade  were  trimmed  and  washed.     The  air 
was  cool,  almost  too  cool  for  us,  who  had  come  from  the  deep, 
hot  valley  beneath,   and  had  now  ascended  on  foot  to  the 
highest  terrace  in  the  garden.      Malaga  lay  below  us ;  the 
immense  cathedral  looked  like  an  ark  upon  a  petrified,  foam- 
white  sea.     We  visited  another  villa  on  our  way  home.     It  had 
been  forsaken  by  its  owner ;  he  had  ruined  himself  by  specu- 


MALAGA.  73 

lating  in  water ;  that  is  to  say,  he  had  spent  his  whole  fortune 
in  constructing,  in  his  garden,  enormous  stone  basins,  in  which 
to  collect  the  rain-water  from  the  hills,  intending  to  distribute 
it  widely  for  consumption.  The  garden  was  now  overgrown 
with  weeds  ;  the  water  stood  stagnant  and  green  in  the  deep 
cisterns,  as  if  it  knew  its  importance,  and  yet  it  was  not  fit  to 
drink.  Collin  caught  here  a  tarantula,  a  disgusting  eight- 
legged  spider.  Reptiles  were  in  abundance,  but  not  a  bird 
was  heard  to  sing.  The  sunbeams  were  scorching  here,  but 
they  were  still  more  scorching  as  we  drove  below  through  the 
dry,  stony  river  bed ;  we  were  devoured  by  thirst.  It  was  very 
refreshing  to  get  a  cactus-fruit  —  Chumbos  it  was  called.  I 
vowed,  in  gratitude  for  its  cooling  drink,  that  I  should  put  it 
into  song  —  it,  whose  flower  and  whose  fruit  bear  the  colors 
of  Spain. 

Yes,  yellow  and  red  are  the  colors  of  Spain, 

In  banners  and  flags  they  are  waving  on  high ; 
And  the  cactus  flower  has  adopted  them  too, 

In  the  warm  sunshine  to  dazzle  the  eye. 
,  Thou  symbol  of  Spain,  thou  flower  of  the  sun, 

When  the  Moors  of  old  were  driven  away, 
Thou  didst  not,  with  them,  abandon  thy  home, 

But  stayed  with  thy  fruit  and  thy  blossoms  gay. 
The  thousand  daggers  that  hide  in  thy  leaves 

Cannot  rescue  thee  from  the  love  of  gain ; 
Too  often  it  is  thy  fate  to  be  sold, 

Thou  sunny  fruit,  with  the  colors  of  Spain  ! 

In  none  of  the  Spanish  towns  have  I  been  so  happy,  so  en- 
tirely at  home,  as  here  in  Malaga.  I  like  the  manners  of  the 
people.  Good  scenery,  and  the  open  sea,  both  so  indispensa- 
ble to  me,  I  have  found  here  ;  and,  what  is  of  still  more  con- 
sequence, I  have  found  here  most  amiable  people.  Our  Min- 
ister for  Foreign  Affairs  had  furnished  me  with  an  open  cir- 
cular letter  to  all  Danish  consuls,  recommending  me  to  them 
so  strongly,  and  flattering  to  me,  that  I  ventured  to  reckon 
always  on  a  good  reception  ;  but  nowhere  was  it  more  cordial 
than  at  Malaga,  from  our  young  Danish  Consul  Scholz.  His 
home  was  so  cheerful  and  happy,  so  pleasant  to  visit.  His 
wife,  Swedish  by  birth,  a  friend  of  Jenny  Lind,  was  so  good- 
hearted,  so  frank ;  she  seemed  one  of  our  northern  domes 


74 


IN  SPAIN. 


tic  flowers  transplanted  to  the  coast  of  the  Mediterranean. 
Sprightly,  merry  children  attached  themselves  immediately  to 
me  ;  the  eldest  daughter,  Trinidad,  a  little  girl  not  quite  five 
years  old,  very  far  advanced  for  her  age,  told  at  the  dinner- 
table  how  much  she  liked  me. 

"  Papa !  A  mi  me  gusta  mucho  Andersen,  yo  lo  quiero 
mucho  !  " 

In  the  Scholz  family,  and  that  of  the  banker  Priesz,  likewise 
at  the  house  of  my  particular  friend,  Herr  Delius,  I  experienced 
so  much  kindness  that  I  almost  forgot  I  was  in  a  foreign  land. 
At  the  Fonda  del  Oriente,  I  met  a  good  many  Germans,  un- 
married, and  settled  here  in  Malaga  —  agreeable  men,  with 
whom  it  was  a  pleasure  to  associate.  Not  a  word  was  said  of 
politics  —  that  jarring  subject  was  not  brought  forward.  The 
conversation  usually  turned  on  the  remarkable  objects  in  the 
town  —  Moorish  reminiscences,  literature,  bull-fights,  and  the 
opera. 

And  now  two  or  three  of  the  captains  of  the  Danish  ships 
lying  in  the  harbor  came  to  pay  me  a  visit.  Not  only  my  own 
countrymen,  and  those  persons  in  some  manner  connected 
with  my  Danish  home,  but  every  Spaniard  with  whom  I  be- 
came acquainted  was  kind  and  attentive  ;  all  seemed  to  be  in 
holiday  humor.  In  the  bright  sunshine,  and  amidst  the  rich 
scenery  of  southern  Spain,  the  heart  appears  to  grow  young  ; 
cold  contracts,  warmth  expands,  the  tightened  belt  is  loosened, 
ideas  take  flight ;  you  are  yourself,  you  dare  to  be  yourself, 
unshackled  by  a  thousand  insipid  ingrafted  prejudices.  One 
is  happy  in  God's  beautiful  world  ;  every  thought,  even  if  it 
cling  with  its  roots  to  the  ground,  is  raised  to  God  in  heaven. 
It  is  not  by  years  only  that  our  age  is  determined,  it  is  by  the 
interior  mind  —  which,  by  the  stroke  of  the  clock  of  life,  an 
nounces  how  old  we  are.  Medea's  enchanted  drink  imparted 
renewed  youth  ;  the  draught  of  variety  imbibed*  in  a  traveller's 
life,  has  something  of  the  same  effect.  How  delightful  to  be 
able  to  rejoice  in  all  the  excellence  and  the  blessings  God  has 
created  !  The  strong  expression  of  this  feeling  in  the  south  is 
never  ridiculous  ;  kiss  the  fresh  rose,  the  lip  of  an  innocent 
child  ;  tell  your  thoughts  in  the  words  that  nature  prompts  ; 
/ou  will  not  be  misunderstood. 


MALAGA.  75 

In  company  with  new  friends,  or  alone  by  one's  self,  a 
stranger  amidst  a  busy  crowd,  one  always  feels  in  a  humor  to 
be  pleased,  to  enjoy  everything  as  youth  does,  to  have  one's 
thoughts  filled  with  gladness  and  song.  How  delightful  it 
was  in  the  evening  to  go  from  the  harbor  along  the  open 
beach  !  The  sea  rolled  high  up  on  the  sands,  and  strewed 
there  the  most  extraordinary  variety  of  objects :  skeletons  of 
fish,  pieces  of  wreck,  parings  of  fruit,  and  all  manner  of  rub- 
bish ;  the  fishermen  were  hauling  their  boats  through  the  surf 
up  to  the  land,  while  old,  sunburnt  seamen  were  sitting  on  the 
bulkheads  smoking  their  cigars ;  half-naked  children  were 
splashing  about  in  the  water,  music  from  the  Alameda  reached 
us  mingling  with  the  noise  around.  And  amidst  all  this  there 
was  beauty  to  be  seen  —  here  were  Andalusian  eyes,  and 
witching  smiles  sat  on  every  mouth. 

"  Estrella,  de  mi  vida  !  how  pretty  she  was." 

Can  I  believe 

These  beaming  eyes  ? 
Do  they  deceive 

With  nattering  lies  ? 
And  round  the  mouth  is  not  the  smile 
Lingering  there,  but  to  beguile  ? 

Ah  !  those  eyes, 
And  those  lies, 

And  those  smiles  so  sweet  that  seem  — 

They  are  Satan's  work  I  deem  ; 

He  has  got  me  in  his  hands, 

And  I  think  I  feel  his  brands. 
Where  is  my  muse  ?  my  passport,  where  ? 

How  shall  I  defended  be 
Against  Spain's  luring  sirens  fair? 

I  feel  the  Inquisition  has  me  ! 

Though  the  Inquisition  is  now  abolished  in  Spain,  there 
remains  yet  much  to  abolish,  but  not  Andalusian  eyes  —  that 
would  be  a  sin  against  the  whole  world  ;  that  would  be  to  ex- 
tinguish the  stars  ;  and  brightly  they  shine  in  Spain,  up  in  the 
skies,  and  under  the  long  beautiful  eyelashes,  not  only  behind 
the  black  silk  mantillas  trimmed  with  lace,  but  amidst  the 
children  of  the  poor,  amidst  the  pretty  gypsies  we  sa\f  selling 
chestnuts.  What  pictures  they  would  make ! 


7(>  IN  SPAIN. 

Geraniums  grew  against  the  ancient  walls. 
She  sat  upon  the  steps  of  marble  there, 
Selling  her  chestnuts,  with  flow'rs  in  her  hair ; 

Her  charms  might  well  have  graced  a  noble's  halls. 

Her  glance  !     If  a  cold  ice-block  you  were  not, 

'Twould  make  you  turn  a  Spaniard  on  the  spot ! 

The  statue  of  Memnon,  the  cold  stone  in  the  sandy  desert, 
emits  a  sound  when  the  rays  of  the  sun  shine  on  it.  The  poet 
has  a  fund  of  songs  within  him ;  a  torch  from  the  north,  a 
torch  from  the  south,  will  kindle  the  latent  sparks,  and  draw 
out  the  sounds.  Let  us  not  restrain  our  feelings  :  — 

A  lotus  blooming  on  a  tranquil  lake, 

As  emblem  of  a  northern  female  take. 

The  beauteous  seed  ascends  from  far  below, 

And,  spite  of  northern  winds,  its  blossoms  blow. 

Here,  in  the  south,  beyond  the  Pyrenees, 

Grows  the  pomegranate,  which,  with  magic  power, 
As  if  transplanted  from  some  Eden-bower, 

Passing  at  once  to  luscious  fruit  one  sees. 

O  lotus  flower  !  how  fresh  and  pure  thou  art ! 

How  rich  in  thought,  how  warm  and  true  of  heart. 

Fire-blossom   of  the  south  !     And  what  art  thou  ? 

But  late  a  child  —  a  dazzling  fairy  now  ! 

Soon  though  it  flies,  with  thee  life  is  a  kiss  — 

Who  would  not  die  a  victim  to  such  bliss  ? 

O  northern  lotus  !  say  a  prayer  for  one 

Enthralled  amidst  these  daughters  of  the  sun  ! 

Thus  every  young  poet  must  sing  when  he  comes  to  Spain, 
and  I  almost  think  every  old  poet  too,  for  it  would  be  very 
painful  to  believe,  that  in  a  certain  number  of  years  the  poet's 
gift  is  worn  out ;  no,  he  is  like  his  original  parent,  the  ever- 
glowing,  the  ever-joyous  Apollo,  who  drives  the  chariot  of  the 
sun. 

Up  in  the  north,  the  warm  stove  near, 

From  books  wild  legends  oft  we  hear  ; 

But  this  side  of  the  Pyrenees 

All  nature  seems  to  teem  with  these. 

If  thou  art  young,  and  full  of  fire  and  flame, 

Into  some  tale  may  enter  too  thy  name. 

It  is  very  warm !  we  must  go  into  the  open  air,  and  drive 
along  the  beach.  We  will  drive  to  the  church-yard.  It  is  a 
lovely  place,  the  Protestant  church-yard  at  Malaga. 


MALAGA. 


77 


At  home  in  our  northern  lands,  tales  are  told  about  deep, 
dark  lakes,  which  in  an  extraordinary  manner  allure  mankind 
to  them,  and  where  moody  and  melancholy  individuals  are  at 
last  forcibly  drawn  on  by  some  unseen  power,  until  they  cast 
themselves  into  the  enticing  deep.  Malaga's  Protestant 
church-yard  had  for  me  a  great  deal  of  this  strange  power  of 
attraction,  and  I  could  well  understand  how  a  splenetic  Eng- 
lishman might  take  his  own  life  in  order  to  be  buried  in  this 
place.  I,  however,  thank  Heaven  !  am  not  splenetic,  and  shall 
have  great  pleasure  in  seeing  more  of  this  blessed  beautiful 
earth.  I  did  not  make  any  attempt  on  my  life,  but  I  wandered 
in  a  little  paradise  —  this  charming  garden.  Here  were  myrtle 
hedges,  covered  with  flowers  sufficient  for  a  thousand  bridal 
wreaths ;  high  geranium-bushes  growing  round  the  tomb- 
stones, which  had  inscriptions  in  Danish  —  Norse,  it  might 
also  be  called,  as  these  were  inscriptions  over  men  from  the 
north ;  there  were  English,  German,  and  Dutch  to  be  read. 
Passion-flowers  flung  their  tendrils  over  many  grave-stones ; 
pepper-trees  waved  their  drooping  branches  amidst  this  place 
'  of  repose.  Here  stood  a  single  palm,  there  a  gum-tree,  and 
in  the  centre  of  all  this  vegetation  was  a  neat,  small  house, 
within  which  refreshments  were  to  be  had ;  pretty  children 
with  laughing  eyes  were  playing  there.  The  whole  cemetery 
was  encircled  by  a  hedge  of  wild  cacti,  over  which  one  beheld 
the  wide,  heaving  ocean.  I  fancied  at  sunset  that  I  could  dis- 
cern the  African  coast. 

Below  the  church-yard  the  road  winds  away  among  the  hills ; 
on  each  side  of  it  grew  cacti  and  other  plants ;  all  is  wonder- 
fully wild,  lonely,  and  deserted.  The  way  leads  past  a  nun- 
nery, which  the  Catholic  Queen  Isabella  once  visited,  and  on 
which  she  bestowed  a  holy  carved  image.  The  priests  and  the 
people  can  relate  miracles  in  regard  to  it.  It  seemed  as  if 
night  dwelt  within  it :  from  no  window  gleamed  a  ray  of  light 
out  on  the  twilight  gloom  of  evening  ;  as  if  deserted  by  all  liv- 
ing beings  lay  the  large  building  in  thought-awaking  sofitude. 
It  was  therefore  rather  startling,  at  turning  suddenly  into  the 
Malaga  road,  to  see  straight  before  us  the  living  Malaga, 
lighted  up  by  thousands  of  gas  lamps,  standing  out  against 
the  pale-blue  transparent  evening  sky. 


78  IN  SPAIN. 

In  the  nunneries,  in  the  villages,  and  in  private  houses  on 
the  high  road  by  which  the  Queen  was  expected  to  arrive,  there 
were  much  work  and  bustle  going  on.  Ever  since  our  arrival 
at  Malaga,  we  had  seen  great  preparations  making  for  the 
festivities.  The  cathedral  was  already  on  the  outside  adorned 
by  many  thousand  lamps  ;  they  hung  with  the  oil  in  them,  and 
yet  it  would  be  weeks  before  her  Majesty  could  arrive.  But 
they  were  not  afraid  of  rain ;  during  five  entire  months  not  a 
drop  had  fallen,  and  the  air  would  still  long  remain  clear  and 
free  from  clouds.  On  the  Alameda  they  were  preparing  in- 
geniously formed  little  fountains  ;  high  up  among  the  tops  of 
the  trees  hung  the  tin  tubes  that  were  to  conduct  the  water 
down.  Triumphal  arches  were  being  erected,  and  on  the 
landing  place  at  the  harbor  stood  already,  composed  of  laths 
and  canvas,  with  bright-colored  stripes,  an  airy,  fluttering 
Moorish  hall ;  the  walls,  the  balustrades,  and  the  towers  were 
also  all  of  canvas  and  pasteboard ;  theatrical  decorations,  in 
the  clear  sunshine,  lay  scattered  about,  or  were  already  put  up. 

The  authorities  of  Malaga  were  to  meet  the  Queen  at  the 
distance  of  about  a  mile  from  the  town  ;  oddly  enough,  at  a 
pretty  country-house,  which  belonged  to  the  parents  of  my 
kind  friend,  Herr  Delius.  He  took  me  to  that  fine  property, 
which,  with  its  beautiful  garden,  borders  on  the  principal  high 
road  from  Almeria.  There  was  a  charming  view  here  of  the 
hills,  and  over  the  rich  vineyards,  and  the  boundless  ocean. 
Taste  and  wealth  were  both  displayed  in  the  mansion  and  in 
the  gardens. 

The  elder  Herr  Delius  is  a  botanist,  and  had  on  his  costly 
pleasure-grounds  merely  tropical  plants,  and  these  in  profu- 
sion, —  plants  such  as  I  have  only  seen  specimens  of  at  home 
in  the  north,  in  our  most  recherche'  hot-houses.  One  of  his 
daughters  brought  me  a  bouquet  so  brilliant,  so  glowing  in  red 
and  yellow,  the  colors  of  Spain,  they  shone  as  if  seen  under  a 
sunbeam,  or  in  a  bright  transparency.  Outside  of  the  gar- 
den upon  sloping  banks,  which  were  heated  by  the  sun  during 
the  day,  and  where  the  night  dews  never  lay,  muscatel  grapes 
were  being  dried  into  raisins  ;  they  were  lying  thickly  strewed 
on  these  heights,  covered  at  night  with  large  reed  mats  ;  they 
were  already  in  a  state  of  fermentation,  and  for  the  time  being 


MALAGA. 


79 


unfit  to  eat.  A''er  sunset  there  arose  from  the  sea-shore  a 
cold,  searching  wind,  which  I  had  never  before  experienced 
in  Spain.  We  speedily  drove  off  in  the  light  carriage.  The 
light-house  blazed,  the  air  seemed  in  a  blaze  ;  every  evening 
here  was  like  a  fete,  and  a  fete  was  awaiting  us  at  Granada, 
where  we  expected  to  be  when  the  Queen  arrived  there. 

About  this  we  had  already  written  to  our  countryman,  Herr 
Visby,  a  son  of  the  clergyman  at  Storeheddinge ;  but  he 
advised  us  not  to  come  just  then,  as,  on  account  of  the 
Queen's  visit,  prices  had  risen  to  an  exorbitant  height :  it 
would  be  the  same  case,  I  did  not  doubt,  at  Malaga,  when 
her  Majesty  arrived  here.  To  see  the  Alhambra  was  one  of 
,  the  principal  objects  of  our  journey  ;  we  could  not  give  that 
up  ;  and  the  festivities  to  take  place  during  the  stay  of  the 
Queen  would  form  a  further  attraction.  Consul  Scholz  there* 
fore  telegraphed  that  we  would  come. 

The  diligence  from  Malaga  to  Madrid  passes  by  Granada, 
and  is  said  to  be  the  dearest  in  Europe  ;  but  it  must  be  taken 
into  consideration,  what  this  stage  establishment  costs  the 
owner ;  from  ten  to  twelve  mules  are  required  to  draw  the 
diligence,  and  at  about  every  third  mile l  a  relay  of  the  same 
number  is  kept  in  readiness  :  they  go  along  at  a  brisk  pace, 
not  at  the  slow  rate  at  which  our  diligences  travel.  Collin 
and  I  had  to  secure  our  places  five  days  beforehand,  so 
great,  for  the  time  being,  was  the  rush  of  travellers  to  Gra- 
nada. The  diligence  generally  starts-  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  but  on  this  day  it  was  detained  for  an  hour  on  ac- 
count of  a  great  bull-fight  here  at  Malaga  ;  one  of  the  bloodi- 
est I  saw  in  Spain,  and  which  made  a  most  painful  and  never- 
to-be-forgotten  impression  upon  me. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  town  were  streaming  toward  the 
Plaza  de  Toros,  when,  in  the  afternoon,  we  went  thither. 
Ladies,  in  their  dark  silk  dresses  and  mantillas,  tripped  on 
their  small  pretty  feet  through  the  streets  that  were  too  nar- 
row for  carriages  to  pass  through.  Mothers  and  daughters 
of  the  second  class,  with  bright-colored  silk  shawls,  were  has- 
tening on  ;  smartly-dressed  peasants,  in  velvet  jackets  and 
1  Danish  mile. 


8o  IN  SPAIN. 

pantaloons,  with  handsomely-embroidered  leather  gaiters  and 
broad-brimmed  hats,  came  jauntily  on  with  their  cigars,  and 
carried  themselves  so  well,  that  one  might  have  supposed  they 
were  young  men  of  quality  going  in  fancy  costumes  to  the 
Carnival.  Outside  of  the  Plaza,  military  were  riding  about 
with  drawn  swords  ;  their  horses  were  rather  fractious,  and 
were  rearing  and  plunging ;  lemonade  sellers,  fruit  sellers, 
tattered  drovers,  and  beggars  increased  the  crowd ;  the  sun 
was  glaring  on  the  white  walls. 

At  length  we  were  in  the  amphitheatre,  and  we  luckily 
obtained  places  in  the  shade ;  the  thousands  who  were  in  the 
sunshine  struggled  vigorously  against  it  with  fans  and  parasols. 
The  ceremonials  and  arrangements  of  the  bull-fight  were 
similar  to  those  we  had  seen  at  Barcelona ;  but  here  we  wit- 
nessed them  in  all  their  roughness  and  horror. 

Twelve  bulls,  one  after  the  other,  were  to  attack  the  poor, 
half-blinded  horses.  The  first  bull  drove  at  once  its  pointed 
horn  into  the  belly  of  the  horse,  and  tore  it  open,  so  that  the 
intestines  came  rolling  out ;  some  men  thrust  them  in  again ; 
the  poor  animal  sustained  another  attack,  tottered  about  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  literally  lost  on  the  arena  large  torn-off 
portions  of  its  bowels.  The  next  horse  did  not  fare  any 
better  ;  it  received  the  bull's  one  horn  in  its  hinder  part ;  the 
blood  spouted  out  over  the  railings ;  it  only  staggered  a  cou- 
ple of  steps,  and  then  sunk  exhausted.  A  third  horse  was, 
with  its  rider,  tossed  high  in  the  air ;  with  great  difficulty  the 
bandarilleros  received  the  rider ;  the  horse  was  dragged, 
flung  up,  and  gored  by  the  furious  bull.  It  was  scarcely  pos- 
sible to  sit  out  this  scene,  and  my  blood  tingled  to  the  very 
points  of  my  fingers.  Horse  after  horse  lay  like  carrion  on 
the  arena ;  and  not  until  after  the  bull,  amidst  the  shouts  of 
the  spectators,  had  received  its  death-blow  from  espada,  came 
a  couple  of  horses,  and,  while  loud  music  almost  deafened 
one,  removed  the  carcasses  of  the  slaughtered  animals  from 
the  field  of  battle.  One  of  the  horses,  which  was  not  quite 
dead,  I  saw  raise  its  head  with  its  teeth  chattering,  but  the 
head  soon  sank  again.  It  was  a  shocking  spectacle,  and 
almost  made  me  ill.  But  I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to. 
leave  the  bull-fight  already ;  it  was  the  first  real  one  that  I 


MALAGA  8 I 

had  seen,  and  might  be  the  last ;  besides,  there  was  some- 
thing interesting  and  attractive  in  the  skill  and  agility,  the 
steady  eye,  and  the  dexterity  with  which  the  bandarilleros  and 
espada  moved  on  the  arena.  It  was  like  a  game,  or  a  dance 
upon  the  stage.  Only  one  single  time  was,  a  spring  made 
over  a  bull,  when,  in  its  fury,  it  rushed  forward.  All  the 
bandar illeros  were  young,  well-formed  men,  splendidly  attired 
in  silk  and  gold.  It  was  often  necessary  to  rescue  the  over- 
thrown, helpless  picador,  who  lay  under  his  fallen  horse, 
which  the  bull,  at  the  first  encounter,  had  tossed  with  its  horn 
high  from  the  ground,  and  which  lay,  not  dead,  but  so  injured 
that  it  could  not  keep  its  legs  while  they  tried  to  lead  it  from 
the  arena. 

A  fourth  bull  I  saw,  dripping  with  blood,  jump  over  the 
railings  among  the  spectators  who  were  standing  behind  it, 
who,  in  the  utmost  haste,  had  to  throw  themselves  into  the 
arena,  and  clamber  out  of  it  when  the  bull  came  back  through 
the  open  gate.  It  received  a  couple  of  awkward  sword-thrusts 
from  espada,  the  blood  streamed  from  its  mouth  ;  the  public 
'hissed.  Espada  had  been  wounded  in  the  calf  of  the  leg  by 
the  first  bull ;  the  place  bled,  swelled,  and  caused  him  to 
limp.  That  was  not  to  be  permitted  ;  a  witty  person  seized  a 
crutch  from  a  lame  spectator,  and  cast  it  scornfully  down  to 
the  limping  espada,  who,  when  a  new  battle  was  commenced, 
was  no  longer  tolerated,  but,  amidst  howls  and  hisses,  was 
obliged  to  leave  the  arena. 

Another  extremely  handsome  espada,  named  Bacanegra, 
was  hailed  with  delight ;  he  well  understood  how,  with  one 
thrust,  to  fell  the  bull,  which  sank  to  the  ground,  and  lay  like 
a  clod.  He  cut  off  its  ears,  and  flung  them  to  the  public,  who 
loudly  applauded,  and  threw  back  to  him  all  they  could  lay 
their  hands  on  —  hats,  fans,  and  cigar-cases. 

The  next  bull  that  was  introduced  tossed,  in  the  first  en- 
counter, one  of  the  horses.  There  seemed  to  be  great  danger 
for  the  picador  who  lay  under  it.  The  bull  was  preparing  for 
another  attack,  but  Bacanegra  seized  it  by  the  tail,  and  held 
it  so  tightly,  that  it  stood  as  if  in  amazement,  turned  its 
head  round,  looked  at  him,  and  then  set  off  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  arena,  while  the  picador  and  his  horse  were  helped 
6 


82  IN  SPAIN. 

up.  A  score  of  horses  and  five  bulls  were  killed ;  seven  more 
were  to  fight  ;  but  I  had  seen  quite  enough,  and  was  so  dis- 
gusted and  overwhelmed  by  what  I  had  witnessed,  that  I  made 
my  way  out,  turning  my  back  on  the  arena,  where  the  fights 
became  afterward  still  more  bloody,  and  more  interesting,  as 
people  said,  and  continued  until  twelve  bulls  were  killed. 

It  is  an  odious  and  shocking  amusement.  And  this  I  have 
heard  several  Spaniards  admit.  They  said  that  this  spectacle 
would  not  continue  for  many  years  to  be  exhibited,  and  that 
latterly  application  had  been  made  to  the  Cortes  for  the  abo- 
lition of  these  fights. 

When  the  diligence  was  about  to  go,  Consul  Scholz,  his 
wife,  and  his  little  daughter  Trinidad,  stood  by  the  carriage, 
and  Herr  Delius  brought  me,  at  the  last  moment,  letters  of  in- 
troduction to  friends  in  Granada.  It  was  rather  late  before 
we  started ;  ten  mules  with  their  jingling  bells  set  off  at  a 
gallop  with  us  through  the  Alameda  down  to  the  dried-up  bed 
of  the  river,  and  away  by  the  low  whitewashed  houses,  from 
which  lights  glimmered  through  the  open  doors. 

Farewell,  Malaga  !     I  shall  greet  thee  again  with  love  I 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GRANADA. 

THE  road  which  the  diligence  now  takes  through  the 
mountains  from  Malaga  to  Granada,  is  longer  than  the 
former  route  by  way  of  Velez-Malaga  and  Alhama,  that  was 
generally  performed  on  horseback  ;  the  latter  was  most  unsafe, 
and  travellers  traversed  it,  therefore,  only  in  large  caravans 
and  well  armed  ;  as  a  rule,  solitary  wayfarers  made  an  escort- 
contract  with  the  bands  of  smugglers  who  frequented  this 
road,  and  who  were  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  localities. 

It  was  a  pitch-dark  evening  as  we  drove  through  the  moun- 
tains ;  the  strong  light  from  the  lantern  of  the  carriage  showed 
us  isolated  naked  rocks,  and  deep  precipices,  which  did  not 
appear  more  deep  than  they  were,  for  the  light  merely  illumi- 
nated the  uppermost  edges.  Here  armed  soldiers  joined  us, 
whose  duty  it  was  to  watch  over  the  safety  of  the  public,  and 
to  accompany  the  diligence  upon  the  most  solitary  portions  of 
the  road.  Not  a  year  ago  a  fray  had  taken  place  here  ;  the 
fortieth  that  may  be  related  to  have  occurred  within  late  years. 
The  day  after,  the  robbers  were  seized ;  they  were  peasants,  a 
family  :  the  youngest  son  was  to  have  become  a  soldier,  and 
in  order  to  obtain  the  money  necessary  to  buy  him  off,  the  at- 
tack had  been  planned. 

The  lantern  in  front  of  the  carriage  shone  upon  scenery  wild 
and  deserted  ;  it  was  windy,  the  air  thick  and  gray.  Collin 
and  I  had  corner  seats,  a  young  Spaniard  of  very  agreeable 
appearance  sat  between  js,  he  slept  without  intermission  the 
whole  night  ;  I  could  not  do  this ;  I  therefore  longed  exceed- 
ingly for  the  day,  that  I  might  be  able  to  look  about  me.  The 
morning  began  to  dawn  as  we  reached  the  little  town  of  Loga, 
which  is  picturesquely  situated  at  the  summit  of  a  hill.  The 
river  Xenil  forms  a  waterfall  amidst  the  romantic  mountain 


84  W  SPAIN. 

defiles  of  Infiernos  de  Loga.  A  curiosity  in  the  town  is  its 
cool  fresh  spring  water,  which  gushes  forth  in  every  direction 
from  pipes  and  from  the  ground  ;  to  us,  who  for  weeks  had 
only  tasted  drinking-water  in  a  lukewarm  state,  this  was  most 
refreshing,  a  heavenly  enjoyment.  Passing  through  rich  corn- 
fields and  vineyards  we  reached  Santa  Fe\  During  the  war 
with  the  Moors,  the  troops  of  Isabella  and  Ferdinand  had 
pitched  here  a  large  encampment;  in  one  night  it  was  con- 
sumed by  fire  ;  but  as  the  royal  pair  had  sworn  to  remain  here 
until  the  Moors  were  dispersed,  a  city  with  walls  and  towers 
was  immediately  begun  to  be  built.  It  was  here  that  Colum- 
bus was  granted  his  first  audience.  The  remains  of  the  for- 
tifications of  Santa  Fd  were  demolished  by  an  earthquake  in 
the  year  1807.  The  whole  landscape  now  lay  stretched  be- 
fore us,  richly  cultivated  ;  olive-groves  and  vineyards  extended 
themselves  far  in  every  direction  ;  once  they  were  manured  by 
the  blood  of  Moors  and  Christians.  Legends  and  song  tell 
much  of  this  :  — 

Sadly,  green  river,  flows  thy  stream, 
Corpses  carrying  to  the  main  ; 

Corpse  of  Christian,  corpse  of  Moor, 
By  the  sword  in  battle  slain  ! 

Now  are  dyed  with  crimson  blood 

Thy  fresh  waters,  crystal  clear  ; 
Blood  of  Christian  and  of  Moor, 

Who  have  fallen  in  combat  here.1 

At  length  we  arrived  at  the  suburb  of  Granada :  the  drive 
through  it  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  end  ;  we  traversed  inter- 
minable streets,  along  old  walls,  and  finally  stopped  in  front 
of  the  city  gate  ;  but  here  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  through 
the  crowd  and  the  press.  Laden  mules  were  trying  to  get  in, 
carts  drawn  by  oxen  were  endeavoring  to  get  out ;  at  length  we 
reached  our  stopping-point,  the  diligence  bureau  upon  the  Ala- 
in eda,  where  our  countryman,  Herr  Wisby,  was  waiting  for  us, 
and  conducted  us  to  a  good  hotel,  a  few  steps  further  on.  We 
had  here  two  good  light  rooms,  with  windows  looking  upon 
the  promenade,  facing  the  snow-covered  summits  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada.  Under  our  windows  there  were  crowds  of  walkers 
1  Old  Spanish  Romance. 


GRANADA.  85 

and  people  driving,  the  church-bells  were  tolling ;  we  heard 
songs  and  mirth.  How  glorious  it  was  to  be  here  !  Our 
countryman  pointed  out  to  me,  upon  the  top  of  a  mountain 
close  to  the  town,  an  old  wall  with  a  reddish,  four-cornered 
tower,  about  which  there  was  nothing  remarkable  to  be  seen  — 
it  was  the  Alhambra,  the  often  described,  fairy-like  Alhambra, 
the  object  of  our  journey.  A  villa  with  white  walls,  up  yonder, 
the  dwelling-house  of  a  wealthy  private  gentleman,  was  much 
more  striking  and  important  looking.  To-day,  however,  we 
were  going  to  devote  merely  to  seeing  the  nearest  environs 
of  the  quarter  of  the  town  in  which  we  were  living. 

The  whole  city  was  in  excitement,  and  there  were  no  bounds 
to  the  activity  and  industry  displayed;  the  Queen  with  her 
husband,  her  children,  and  a  numerous  suite,  were  to  arrive 
here  in  a  few  days.  It  was  the  first  time,  since  the  death  of 
Isabella  the  Catholic,  that  Granada  was  to  behold  her  sover- 
eign. 

In  front  of  the  principal  street,  with  the  fagade  toward  the 
Alameda,  a  triumphal  arch  had  been  erected,  composed  of 
'wood  and  paper,  but  painted  to  resemble  marble,  with  statues 
of  plaster  of  Paris,  and  canvas.  When  illuminated  on  a  calm 
evening,  or  at  night,  the  whole  must  have  been  most  effective  ; 
now,  in  the  sunshine,  it  looked  just  like  side  scenes  in  a  thea- 
tre. In  all  those  streets  where  old  houses  were  under  repair,  or 
were  being  pulled  down,  these  disfigurements  were  concealed 
by  paper  and  canvas  painted  like  square  stones.  Upon  the 
plaza,  where  there  was  already  the  foundation  of  some  monu- 
ment—  the  monument  itself,  however,  had  not  yet  been  raised 
—  an  obelisk  of  laths  and  canvas  was  being  manufactured  ;  in- 
voluntarily the  thought  flashed  upon  one  of  the  journey  of  the 
Empress  Catherine  of  Russia,  upon  which  occasion  whole 
cities  of  pasteboard  and  Spanish  walls  were  put  up  in  the  dis- 
tance, in  order  that  her  Imperial  Majesty  might  rejoice  over 
the  widely  populated  country.  Garlands  of  variegated  paper 
lanterns  were  drawn  from  tree  to  tree,  upon  the  Alameda  ;  and 
across  the  wide  street  which  led  to  the  mansion  where  the 
Queen  was  to  dwell,  from  house  to  house,  rope  upon  rope  was 
stretched  from  the  uppermost  stories,  ready  to  be  hung  with 
innumerable  lamps  —  a  party-colored  shining  veil  high  above 


86  iff  SPAIN. 

the  throng  of  people.  Here  in  the  neighborhood,  in  the  well- 
kept  Moorish  quarter  of  the  town,  where  the  shops  and  the 
street  pavements  still  retain,  unaltered,  their  ancient  forms, 
runs  a  long  narrow  street  of  a  later  construction,  that  is  in- 
habited by  shop  people  ;  here  hung  from  every  window  long 
blue  and  red  gauze,  fit  scenery  for  a  shawl  dance  upon  the 
stage  ;  amidst  all  this  light  airy  splendor,  large  glass  chande- 
liers were  introduced  ;  the  whole  street  was  to  be  illuminated 
like  a  long  brilliant  ball-room. 

Close  to  the  gold-yielding  river  Darro,  which,  with  its  dried- 
up  bed,  looked  at  that  time  like  a  large  gutter,  lay  a  building 
in  the  Moorish  style  ;  through  the  horseshoe-formed  door  one 
entered  an  extensive  grass-overgrown  court-yard ;  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  court  a  large  jet  of  water  fell  splashing  into  the  wide 
stone  basin,  and  this  was  shaded  by  a  solitary  vine,  which 
stretched  its  thick,  gigantic  branches  over  the  whole  vast 
space.  Two  asses  and  about  ten  mules  were  standing  here  ; 
old  saddles  and  worn-out  harnesses  were  lying  all  about ;  this 
locality  would  have  been  most  admirably  calculated  for  a  rep- 
resentation of  Don  Quixote  dubbing  a  knight  in  the  tavern, 
which  he  mistook  for  a  castle.  A  young  girl  in  a  fiery  colored 
dress,  with  white  linen  sleeves  —  Lindaraja  could  not  have 
looked  better  —  sat  at  the  edge  of  the  basin,  and  washed  her 
face  and  neck ;  the  girl's  black  eyes  were  more  powerful  than 
I  can  describe.  A  beautiful  young  Spaniard  in  a  Moorish 
court-yard,  that  is  enough  to  satisfy  the  mind  for  a  whole  day  ; 
but  one  has  no  time  to  indulge  in  such  contemplations  ;  one 
lovely  picture  chases  the  other  away.  How  much  that  was 
new  to  us  there  was  to  be  seen  here !  even  the  very  lobbies  of 
these  small  houses  attracted  our  attention.  The  flooring  every- 
where had  a  neat  pavement  of  figures  in  every  changing  form 
of  the  kaleidoscope,  or  it  represented  a  vase,  a  large  flower,  or 
a  spread  eagle.  But  my  mind  was  filled  with  a  longing  to  see 
the  Alhambra.  The  following  morning  Collin  and  I  betook 
ourselves  thither. 

From  the  dried-up  bed  of  the  River  Darro,  the  street  ascends 
tn  a  rather  steep  slope  to  the  walls  of  Granada.  An  ancient 
gate,  with  the  arms  of  Charles  V.  hewn  in  stone,  leads  to  a 
threefold  allee  of  poplars,  the  same  road  over  which  the  Moor 


GRANADA.  87 

ish  king,  —  over  which  the  Zegri  and  Abencerrages,  galloped 
with  waving  flags  and  sounding  trumpets  ;  now  people  were 
busily  occupied  hanging  up  here  bright  paper  lanterns  ;  orien- 
tal magnificence  was  to  shine  forth  in  the  long  dark  alle'e, 
when  the  Queen  visited  the  Alhambra. 

To  the  left  of  the  allee  wound  a  shorter  but  a  steeper  path- 
way, also  leading  upward ;  water,  rippling  and  splashing, 
came  rushing  downward  amidst  luxuriant  verdure ;  slender 
cypresses,  and  tall  thin  poplars,  elevate  themselves  in  the  blue 
air  in  front  of  the  old  red  walls  of  the  Alhambra.  The  road 
takes  a  turn  at  a  huge  skillfully  cut  marble  basin,  and  one 
finds  one's  self  in  a  long  allee  of  poplars,1  immediately  in  front 
of  the  Judges  Gateway,  over  whose  horseshoe-formed  arch  an 
opened  hand  is  carved  with  a  finger  extended,  and  within,  on 
the  opposite  side,  a  key.  The  architect's  words  with  refer- 
ence to  these  two  hieroglyphics  are  known :  "  Alhambra's 
walls  shall  stand  until  the  hand  shall  grasp  the  key."  Two 
soldiers  were  on  guard  at  the  gate,  through  which  alone,  a 
precipitous  path  between  old  walls,  one  gained  a  wide  terrace, 
'from  which  on  every  side  a  charming  view  presented  itself  of 
part  of  the  town,  and  the  country  beyond.  If  we  place  our- 
selves between  the  two  deep  wells  here  above,  and  turn  our 
backs  upon  the  ruins  of  towers  and  walls  which  inclose  the 
vineyards  and  gardens,  then,  immediately  before  us,  lies  the 
whole  lofty  Alhambra.  The  Moors  had  had  these  springs  dug  ; 
the  cold,  icy  water  was  raised  from  the  very  depths  of  the  earth  ; 
it  was  carried  by  mules  in  large  clay  vessels  down  to  Gra- 
nada ;  up  here,  by  the  side  of  the  springs,  two  old  women  were 
sitting,  selling  the  water  by  the  glassful.  We  also  met  many 
strangers  in  the  Alhambra ;  a  large  number  of  workmen  were 
likewise  employed  here.  They  were  moving  about  lazily,  with 
bundles  of  blooming  myrtle  branches,  with  bright  lamps,  and 
painted  paper  coats  of  arms,  all  intended  for  a  decoration 
which  looked  very  much  out  of  place  and  paltry  amidst  the 
sombre  ruins.  Like  a  vast  Acropolis  this  ground,  replete,  with 
reminiscences,  stretches  itself  out.  Nearest  to  us,  and  com- 
manding the  whole,  stands  the  unfinished  palace  of  Charles 

1  Alamo  is  the  Spanish  name  for  poplar-trees,  hence  Alameda,  alley  of 
poplars,  where  people  walk  under  poplars- 


88  IN  SPAIN. 

V. ,  a  four-cornered  building  composed  of  large  square  stones. 
It  was  his  will  that  this  palace  should  exceed  in  magnificence 
and  size  everything  Nthat  the  Moors  had  built  up  here,  and,  in 
order  to  gain  space,  a  portion  of  the  Alhambra  was  pulled 
down,  but  the  royal  work  remains  unfinished  ;  of  a  beautiful 
style,  it  is  true,  yet  a  colossus  without  a  roof,  with  windowless 
frames,  through  which  the  winds  moan  and  whistle.  Even 
these  walls  had  been  hung  with  innumerable  gay  lamps,  in 
honor  of  the  approaching  days  of  festivity. 

Behind  the  palace  lies  the  church  Santa  Maria  de  la  Alham- 
bra, and  beyond  that  again  is  a  small  town,  with  miserable 
houses  and  large  vineyards ;  often  in  these  gardens,  under  the 
knotted  vines,  the  remains  of  rich  mosaic  pavements,  or  over- 
turned beautifully  carved  Moorish  cornices  and  arches,  are 
stumbled  upon.  After  wandering  about  a  while  here,  one  re- 
turns to  the  wide  terrace,  whence,  over  the  cypresses  and  pop- 
lars, one  gazes  down  the  rocky  heights  to  the  deep  rapid 
Darro.  "  But  where,  then,  is,"  one  asks  one's  self,  "  the  real 
Alhambra,  with  its  lion-court,  with  its  ambassadors'  hall,  and 
the  enchanting  garden  of  Lindaraja  ?  " 

Upon  the  terrace,  by  the  unfinished  palace  of  Charles  V., 
one  perceives,  toward  the  walls,  a  couple  of  small,  lowly  situ- 
ated gardens,  with  two  or  three  mean-looking  houses  ;  behind 
these,  and  within  the  walls  of  the  ruined  towers,  amidst  unos- 
tentatious treasures,  the  enchantment  is  to  be  sought. 

From  one  of  the  small  houses,  through  an  ordinary  little 
door,  one  passes  into  the  rich  courts  and  halls  of  the  Moorish 
kings.  I  had  some  difficulty  in  obtaining  permission  to  enter. 
Within,  they  were  busily  engaged  with  the  decorations  in  honor 
of  her  Majesty  the  Queen.  A  few  kind  words  and  a  few  pase- 
tas  procured  me  admittance,  nevertheless. 

Wonderfully  beautiful,  yet  surprisingly  small,  it  was  here.  I 
did  not  find  the  grandeur  and  vastness  which  I  had  pictured 
to  myself:  however,  as  I  wandered  through  these  arches,  these 
courts,  these  halls,  it  seemed  as  if  they  extended  themselves ; 
it  was  as  if  I  were  walking  through  a  petrified  fanciful  lace- 
bazaar,  where  the  water  leaped  clear  and  sparkling,  where  it 
rippled  in  cut  channels  through  the  marble  pavement,  and 
filled  the  large  marble  basins,  in  which  gold-fish  were  swim- 


GRANADA. 


89 


ming.  The  lower  part  of  the  walls,  the  breastwork,  consists 
of  variegated  porcelain  tiles  ;  the  walls  themselves  are  covered 
with  an  unpolished  yellowish-white  porcelain,  resembling  mar- 
ble, and  so  artistically  perforated  that  it  seems  like  a  lace  veil 
•  spread  out  over  a  red,  green,  and  golden  ground.  Scrolls  and 
inscriptions  are  entwined  in  the  arabesque  style.  The  eye  is 
perplexed  with  these  ins  and  outs,  yet  on  more  narrow  exami- 
nation they  arrange  themselves  into  precise  regular  forms.  The 
walls  unfold  verses  in  honor  of  God  and  the  Prophet  Mo- 
hammed. The  walls  loudly  speak  of  the  noble  achievements 
of  the  Moorish  kings,  of  chivalrous  valor,  and  of  the  power 
of  beauty.  The  Alhambra  is  like  an  old  legend-book,  full  of 
fantastic  entwined  hieroglyphics  of  gold  and  many  colors ; 
each  room,  each  court,  is  another  page ;  the  same  poem,  the 
same  language,  and  yet  always  a  new  chapter. 

Sala  de  los  Embaj  adores,  in  which  the  Moorish  kings  re- 
ceived foreign  ambassadors,  still  retains  almost  its  ancient 
splendor.  But  how  is  this  to  be  described  in  words  ?  What 
avails  it  to  tell  that  the  breastwork  is  of  green  porcelain  flags  j 
that  the  walls,  to  their  very  utmost  height,  appear  to  be  cov- 
ered with  a  veil,  thrown  over  gold  brocade  and  purple,  and 
that  this  veil  is  a  mass  of  perforated  stone,  a  filigree  work,  into 
which  the  horseshoe-formed  window  arches,  with  graceful  col- 
umns, admit  light  ?  Over  the  window-frames,  openings  in  the 
shape  of  rosettes  permit  more  day  to  enter,  so  that  the  beauti- 
fully carved  wooden  ceiling  comes  well  forth.  Not  in  words 
can  this  picture  be  described  ;  it  might  perhaps  be  represented 
in  a  photograph,  yet  even  this  would  fail,  because  photography 
can  only  give  one  particular  view  ;  whereas  here  one  must  be 
always  in  motion :  fully  to  comprehend  and  to  appreciate  the 
beauty  of  the  whole,  one  must  step  to  the  open  window,  gaze 
down  the  narrow,  wild,  romantic  valley  through  which  the 
Darro  flows ;  then,  turning,  glance  round  the  open  antecham- 
bers at  the  light  airy  arches,  whose  decorations  seemed  to  be 
petrified  creeping  plants,  encircling,  as  in  a  magic-lantern, 
scattered  inscriptions. 

The  lion-court  displayed  great  magnificence.  Brussels  lace, 
woven  of  porcelain ;  tulle-embroidery  of  stone,  supported  by 
slender  marble  columns,  here  formed  partition-walls,  arches, 


9<D  IN  SPAIN. 

kiosks,  and  alcoves.  The  lions,  on  the  contrary,  are  badly 
executed ;  clumsy  and  ponderous,  they  lie  in  the  middle  of  the 
court  round  the  fountain.  Here,  to  the  left,  looking  out  upon 
the  Darro,  one  enters  into  the  Two  Sisters'  Hall,  so  called 
after  two  marble  slabs  in  the  floor.  People  were  busy  decorat- 
ing, as  they  called  it,  this  in  itself  most  beautifully  ornamented 
spacious  hall.  They  hung  over  the  walls  heavy  drapery  of 
damask  and  velvet,  with  golden  borders  and  tassels  ;  these  hid 
too  much  of  the  original  beauty  —  only  the  ceiling  was  left 
free  to  be  seen  and  admired,  in  its  undisturbed  ancient  splen- 
dor. It  still  displayed  its  rich  gold  and  carved  work.  It 
was  as  if  one  were  gazing  into  the  calyx  of  a  marvelously 
formed  flower." 

Exactly  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the  lion -court,  one 
enters  into  the  hall  of  the  Abencerrages.  This  had  escaped 
being  adorned,  and  remained  in  its  original  beauty  from  the 
time  of  the  Moors.  In  the  centre  stands  the  large  marble 
basin,  yet  discolored  by  the  innocent  blood  of  the  Abencer- 
rages, which  has  penetrated  the  very  stone,  aad  has  for  gen- 
erations accused  the  unfortunate  Boabdil.  To  this  hall  is 
attached,  it  is  said,  the  only  ghost  story  belonging  to  Spain. 
Here  at  night  is  heard  wailing ;  here  are  heard  cries  and 
groans  of  anguish  from  unblessed  spirits. 

We  wandered  through  quite  a  labyrinth  of  galleries,  kiosks, 
and  chambers ;  we  descended  into  small  courts,  into  charm- 
ing bath-rooms,  at  the  entrance  of  which  nymphs  and  grin- 
ning satyrs  stood.  The  light  falls  subdued  through  the  star- 
formed  openings ;  immense  marble  basins  invite  to  the  bath ; 
one  still  sees  in  the  walls  the  iron  pipes  which  conducted  the 
cold  and  warm  water  down  here.  On  ascending  a  few  steps, 
one  traverses  gallery  after  gallery,  supported  by  slender  mar- 
ble pillars.  Glancing  down  on  the  way  into  little  flower- 
gardens,  and  courts  filled  with  beautiful  statuary,  one  reaches 
a  sort  of  pavilion,  —  el  Mirador  del  Lindaraja,  —  the  loveliest, 
the  most  elegant,  and  the  most  tasteful  thing  one  could  pos- 
sibly see.  El  Mirador  is  a  suspended  balcony,  a  flower  of 
marvelous  beauty  amidst  this  wonderful  beauty  of  architec- 
ture. It  hangs  forward  over  the  creeping  verdure  of  the 
mountain-cleft,  out  over  poplars  and  cypresses,  and  from 


GRANADA.  9! 

hence  one  commands  a  view  of  part  of  the  city  and  of  the 
nearer  vineyards  and  hills.  Our  stay  here  was  only  of  short 
duration.  The  workmen  intruded  even  here  to  decorate  and 
adorn.  All  this  beautifying  was  a  terrible  interruption  !  It 
would  have  been  very  well  to  have  arranged  flowers  in  vases 
in  the  myrtle  garden,  as,  by  this  means,  a  greater  mass  of 
foliage  would  have  been  obtained  between  the  large  marble 
basins ;  but  they  actually  dressed  the  palms  with  paper,  and 
that  in  a  land  where  palms  grow !  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I 
saw  a  lovely  antique  statue  bedecked  in  carnival  finery.  "  An 
architectural  dream,"  Hacklander  has  called  it,  in  describing 
the  Alhambra.  The  dream  was  now  a  reality  to  me,  which 
I  can  never  forget.  Impressed  and  overcome  by  all  I  had 
seen,  I  returned  to  Granada. 

I  had  received  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Herr  Schier- 
beck,  in  Barcelona,  to  his  Spanish  brother-in-law,  Don  Josd 
Larramendi  •  the  letter  bore  his  name  and  title:  Teniente 
Coronel  de  Regimiento  Cordoba.  While  making  inquiries 
for  him,  I  received  another  proof  of  the  politeness  of  the 
Spaniards,  and  their  readiness  to  serve  strangers.  In  the 
Fonda  de  la  Alameda,  where  we  lived,  several  military  men 
of  high  rank  were  quartered ;  among  these  was  a  general ; 
before  his  door  a  soldier  was  always  stationed  ;  I  inquired  of 
him  about  the  Regiment  Cordoba,  and  about  Colonel  Larra- 
mendi. The  soldier  immediately  accompanied  me  down  to 
the  street,  and  indeed  from  one  street  to  the  other,  trying  to 
find  out  where  Colonel  Larramendi  lived,  but  in  vain ;  at 
length  he  conducted  me  to  a  military  bureau,  and  here  we 
were  given  the  exact  address  of  the  Colonel ;  the  soldier  went 
with  me  to  the  house  ;  I  wished  to  reward  him  for  his  trouble, 
but  he  looked  at  me  with  large  wondering  eyes,  shook  his 
head,  and  could  not  .be  persuaded  to  receive  the  smallest 
remuneration  for  his  kindness;  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
afterward  a  daily  nod  of  recognition  as  I  passed  him  in  the 
corridor,  was  all  he  would  accept. 

Through  a  small  court-yard  with  a  bubbling  fountain,  be- 
tween laurel-hedges  and  pomegranate  trees,  I  reached  the 
apartments  occupied  by  Larramendi,  his  wife,  mother-in-law, 


92  IN 

and  a  whole  troop  of  children.  I  was  received  as  if  I  haa 
been  a  long  expected  and  valued  friend.  Few  people  have 
shown  us  so  much  attention,  and  evinced  such  an  unceasing 
wish  to  be  of  use  to  us,  as  this  lively  amiable  man  did  to  Col- 
lin  and  myself  during  our  stay  in  Granada ;  no  day  passed 
without  his  visiting  us,  to  make  some  well-arranged  proposi- 
tion for  the  best  way  of  employing  the  day ;  he  often  sent 
his  own  servants  to  us,  because  they  were  better  able  to  direct 
us  about,  or  go  errands  for  us  in  the  town,  when  we  had  any 
to  be  done,  than  the  strange  servants  in  the  hotel.  I  know 
that  he  often  worked  till  late  at  night  so  as  to  be  at  liberty 
during  the  day,  and  be  able  to  spend  more  time  with  us.  He 
was  kind  and  considerate,  youthful  in  mind  and  feelings ;  our 
intercourse  with  him  formed  a  part  of  the  most  agreeable 
hours  which  we  spent  in  Granada.  I  spoke  a  little  French, 
Collin  had  already  made  great  progress  in  Spanish,  and  when 
my  smattering  of  the  language  did  not  suffice,  dumb  show 
was  brought  into  practice.  Under  his  escort  we  obtained 
admission  into  many  a  festively  decorated  place,  which,  as 
strangers,  we  should  not  have  been  permitted  to  enter. 

We  visited  with  him  the  noble  barracks  of  the  Regiment 
Cordoba,  which  is  situated  close  to  the  town,  between  the 
rich  deserted  monastery  Cartuja  and  the  Gypsy  Quarter. 
The  wide  space  which  intervenes  between  this  place  and  the 
city  walls  was,  up  to  no  very  remote  period,  dangerous  to  trav- 
erse in  the  evening,  and  still  more  so  at  night.  Attacks  and 
murders  were  then  often  committed  here.  Now  perfect  safety 
reigned  in  every  direction  in  and  round  Granada,  and  just 
then  this  large  space  was  gayly  and  brightly  decorated  ;  flags 
waved ;  a  gorgeous  tent,  with  the  Spanish  colors,  red  and  yel- 
low, had  been  raised  ;  it  formed  three  large  partitions,  the 
flooring  of  which  was  covered  with  red  velvet.  Here  the 
Queen  was  to  be  received  on  her  arrival,  by  the  high  author- 
ities of  the  town. 

The  place  was  filled  with  town-folks,  peasants,  soldiers,  and 
gypsies  ;  all  was  life  and  motion.  Mules  brayed,  dogs  barked, 
a  street-singer  set  up  his  drawling  ditty,  a  blind  improvisatore 
recited,  while  his  little  boy  offered  printed  songs  for  sale.  I 
gave  the  blind  man  a  real.  Larramendi  told  him  tha^  I  was 


GRANADA. 


93 


a  foreigner  from  far  away,  beyond  the  other  side  of  France ; 
so  the  blind  man  improvised  a  poem  to  me :  of  course  I  did 
not  understand  it,  but  the  whole  concourse  of  people  around, 
young  and  old,  half-naked  boys  and  decked-out  peasants,  ap- 
plauded him  with  all  their  might. 

The  sun's  rays  literally  scorched  one.  It  was  a  comfort 
to  enter  the  officers'  cool  guard-room.  The  fresh  spring  wa- 
ter from  the  wells  of  the  Alhambra  was  like  dew  in  the  car- 
affs ;  the  long,  thin,  sweet  biscuit,  zugarillos,  disappeared,  as 
by  the  conjurer's  art,  the  instant  they  came  in  contact  with  the 
water  in  the  tumblers,  and  tasted  well ;  cigars  were  handed 
round  ;  it  was  very  sociable. 

The  yard  was  swarming  with  soldiers  ;  they  ran  up  and 
down  the  stairs  ;  they  rushed  about  in  full  regimentals  and  in 
half-dress.  We  inspected  the  sleeping  ward  :  it  was  large  and 
airy,  and  had  a  beautifully  carved  ceiling  in  the  Moorish  style. 
We  saw  the  clothing  department,  containing  garments  from 
shirts  to  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  the  kitchens,  resplendent 
with  brightly  polished  vessels.  In  the  hospital  the  air  was 
'  fresh  and  good.  We  entered  the  sutler's  house,  principally 
to  see  lovely  eyes,  and  we  did  find  them  here.  The  daughter, 
a  girl  of  sixteen  years  of  age,  was  a  perfect  beauty  ;  her  hair 
and  eyes  were  sparkling  black,  her  teeth  regular  and  white. 
To  look  at,  she  was  just  like  a  charming  fresh-blown  flower. 
The  grandmother  had  a  peculiarly  characteristic  countenance  ; 
she  wished  to  pay  us  much  respect,  so  she  conducted  us  from 
the  counter,  where  the  soldiers  came  to  drink  her  glasses  of 
anisette,  to  the  adjoining  chamber :  this  was  far  superior  in 
her  opinion.  Upon  the  floor  of  this  room  lay  several  bundles 
of  cod-fish,  and  whole  layers  of  bread  in  the  form  of  wreaths ; 
upon  the  walls  hung  colossal  onions,  and  over  these  a  vessel 
containing  holy  water  and  a  large  wooden  cross.  The  young 
girl  brought  us  luscious  grapes.  How  beautiful,  how  slender, 
how  graceful  she  was  !  Her  eyes  spoke  —  there  was  no  need 
for  the  mouth  to  say  anything.  The  eyes  were  resplendent 
with  light ;  they  uttered  an  entire  poem,  enough  to  set  any 
one's  brain  on  fire. 

Below  on  the  squares  and  the  streets  there  was  noisy  bus- 
tling to  an  i  fro.  The  peasants  in  jackets  and  trousers  of  vio- 


94  -fw  SPAIN. 

let  or  blue  velvet,  with  leather  well-fitting  gaiters  ;  the  trousers 
were  open  beneath  the  knee,  thereby  rendering  the  walk  freer : 
the  women  wore  the  most  violent  colors.  Everything  in  the 
streets,  in  the  open  shops  and  courts,  was  bedecked  with  fin- 
ery. Here  were  beautiful  eyes  !  The  Lord  had  not  been 
sparing  in  these,  and  these  eyes  did  not  come  only  from  the 
country  ;  they  came  also  from  the  city,  from  the  different  sto- 
ries of  the  houses. 

In  the  north  there  are  autumn  nights  in  which  the  whole 
firmament  is  resplendent  with  falling  stars  :  here  they  shine 
by  day.  I  wanted  to  transfer  to  paper,  in  verse  and  prose, 
some  of  these  bright  flashes ;  but  I  knew  that  I  had  no  paper 
at  home,  and  therefore  went  into  a  stationer's  shop  with 
Colonel  Larramendi.  The  Colonel  presented  my  travelling 
companion  and  me  to  the  shopman  as  strangers  from  the  king- 
dom of  Dinamarca.  We  spoke  of  Zamora's  stay  there  ;  we 
spoke  of  Andalusian  eyes  ;  and  when  I  wished  to  pay,  the  an- 
swer was,  "  The  paper  was  already  paid  !  "  Larramendi  had 
made  a  sign,  such  as  the  Spaniards  do  in  the  cafes,  signifying 
that  the  stranger  was  his  guest.  I  knew  that  I  should  not  be 
allowed  to  pay  ;  but  when,  about  a  week  afterward,  I  went 
into  the  same  shop  to  buy  more  paper,  I  was  again  told,  when 
I  was  about  to  pay,  "  It  is  paid  !  " 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  that  is  not  possible  !  I  come  alone  to-day ; 
no  one  is  with  me." 

"  O  yes,  I  am  with  you  !  "  replied  the  stationer  ;  "  my  house 
is  yours ! " 

Of  course  I  never  again  entered  his  house  ;  but  I  could  not 
resist  relating  this  circumstance,  because  it  is  characteristic  of 
the  Spanish  politeness  and  obliging  disposition. 

There  was  military  music  in  the  evening  in  various  direc- 
tions, and  also  just  under  our  balcony,  because  a  general  was 
residing  at  the  hotel.  They  played  from  "  La  Traviata,"  "  Un 
Ballo  in  Maschera,"  and  from  others  of  Verdi's  lively  operas. 
It  was  the  band  of  the  Regiment  Cordoba  which  was  playing. 
Colonel  Larramendi  was  paying  us  a  visit ;  the  plaza  beneath 
was  crowded  with  people,  the  air  was  warm  and  mild  ;  a  fresh 
breeze  came,  wafted  from  the  snow-clad  mountains. 

Later  in  the  evening  I  sat  here  alone.     Historical  recollec- 


GRANADA. 


95 


tions  of  Granada  came  crowding  on  my  mind.  How  charm- 
ing it  was  here  !  Busy  life  was  still  to  be  seen  below.  I  ex- 
perienced real  pleasure  in  being  here.  We  had  decided  upon 
remaining  three  weeks  in  Granada  —  one-and-twenty  bright 
glorious  days  in  one's  life.  I  intended  to  thoroughly  enjoy 
them  —  to  enjoy  thankfully  the  blessings  granted  to  me  by  a 
merciful  God  —  and  yet  my  recollections  of  Granada  are  more 
painful  than  pleasant.  The  thoughtlessness,  —  not  exactly 
the  evil  designs  —  the  wantonness  of  mankind  often  disturbs 
the  pure  clear  spring  from  which  we  should  drink ;  but  this 
evening  in  Granada,  and  the  remembrance  of  the  past  days 
since  we  began  our  journey,  offered  only  beauty  and  pleasure. 
I  was  in  the  ancient  city  of  the  Moors.  I  had  seen  the  Al- 
hambra.  Andalusian  eyes  had  beamed  upon  me.  Bouquet 
upon  bouquet  of  Spain's  beauty  had  been  cast  at  me  during 
my  journey. 

It  was  on  Thursday,  October  loth,  that  the  Queen,  for  the 
first  time,  made  her  entrance  into  Granada.  From  early 
morning  masses  of  people  inundated  the  streets  ;  all  were 
gayly  dressed.  From  every  balcony  hung  bright  gold-embroi- 
dered tapestry,  or  at  least  a  white  coverlet,  adorned  by  a  red 
border.  Flags  and  banners  waved,  lamps,  balloons,  and  gar- 
lands of  flowers  hung  crowded  together  over  the  broad  street, 
thus  forming  a  complete  covering  from  the  sun.  In  the  long 
street  behind  the  old  Moorish  shops  floated,  from  the  highest 
to  the  lowest  story,  long  pieces  of  red  and  white  crape,  as  if  they 
were  the  veils  of  spirits  of  the  air  in  a  fairy  ballet ;  large  glass 
chandeliers  hung  up  here,  and  over  each  was  suspended  a  gilt 
crown  ;  everything  looked  arranged  as  if  by  happy  children. 
The  balconies  were  crammed  with  human  beings,  the  greater 
number  were  ladies,  a  wealth  of  Spanish  beauty  and  grace. 
And  what  various  colors  in  the  costumes,  more  particularly 
those  in  the  streets  :  the  peasants  from  the  campagna  and 
from  the  mountains  appeared  in  such  gorgeous  array  that 
they  were  worthy  of  being  painted  !  Here  were  groups,  splen- 
did subjects  for  the  pencil  ;  now  a  peasant  rode  past  on  his 
donkey,  before  him  hung  two  sloping  baskets,  in  each  side  of 
which  a  lovely  little  girl  was  sitting,  no  doubt  his  children  ; 


96  IN  SPAIN. 

they  had  come  with  him  to  Granada  to-day  to  see  the  Queen 
and  all  the  grand  doings.  Astonishment  and  delight  beamed 
from  their  eyes. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  her  Majesty 
arrived.  They  said  she  had  reached  the  reception  tent  half 
an  hour  sooner  than  the  authorities  who  should  have  received 
and  welcomed  her,  and  she  had  been  obliged  to  wait  for  them. 

What  joy !  all  the  church-bells  rung  ;  large  bands  of  gypsies 
with  castanets  and  peculiar-stringed  instruments,  danced 
through  the  streets  —  a  noisy,  bacchanal  train.  The  black- 
haired  brown  figures  were  equipped  in  a  strange  wild  man- 
ner. I  thought  involuntarily  of  children  who  were  going  to 
act  a  comedy,  and  had  received  permission  to  choose  what 
they  liked  among  the  old  clothes  which  were  hanging  in  the 
wardrobe ;  they  invariably  take  all  to  deck  themselves  in. 
The  gypsies  had  also  rummaged  out  everything  that  was  at  all 
bright  and  glittering ;  silk  ribbons,  silk  handkerchiefs,  flowers 
and  gold  hung  in  their  hair ;  they  rushed  through  the  streets 
and  plazas,  — 

Forth  to  the  gate  of  Bivarrambla ! 

From  the  balconies  and  garden-walls  the  spectators  ap- 
piauded.  The  throng  increased,  here  and  there  bands  of 
music  were  playing,  there  was  a  flourish  of  trumpets  :  "  Viva  la 
Reina !  "  1  Roses  were  stripped  of  their  leaves,  —  the  roses 
themselves  would  have  been  too  heavy  in  their  fall,  —  and  the 
separate  leaves  fluttered  down,  and  floated  around  the  Queen, 
who  sat  in  a  carriage  drawn  by  beautiful  Andalusian  horses. 

The  Queen  looked  amiable  and  happy ;  there  was  an  open 
expression  in  her  countenance  which  called  forth  devotion  and 

1  Isabella  II.,  born  on  October  10,  1830,  is  the  daughter  of  Ferdinand 
VII.  and  his  fourth  wife,  Maria  Christina.  When  only  three  years  of  age 
she  ascended  the  throne,  under  the  regency  of  her  mother.  Don  Carlos, 
the  brother  of  the  deceased  king,  laid  claims  to  the  throne.  A  bloody  civil 
war  broke  out  Maria  Christina  made  a  morganatic  marriage  with  Don 
Fernando  Munoz,  an  officer  in  the  body-guards,  afterwards  raised  to  the 
rank  of  Duke  of  Rianzaras  ;  this  marriage,  according  to  the  laws  of  Spain, 
deprived  the  mother  of  the  guardianship,  and  Espartero  assumed  it ;  in  the 
year  1843  Espartero  was  dismissed,  and  Isabella  II.  was  declared  of  age; 
she  had  been  united  to  Fra'nz  Duke  of  Cadiz,  who  received  the  title  o> 
King. 


GRANADA. 


97 


loyalty,  the  joy  which  surrounded  her  seemed  genuine  and 
heartfelt.  The  King  sat  at  her  side  ;  opposite  to  them  the 
young  Infanta,  and  her  little  brother  Alfons,  Prince  of  As- 
turias.  The  cortege  moved  on  toward  the  cathedral,  —  the 
Queen's  first  visit.  The  incense  poured  forth  through  the 
open  church  door,  which  was  surrounded  by  people,  who 
clung  on  by  every  jutting-out  brick  in  the  wall,  and  by  the 
foundation  stones  of  the  carved  images  of  saints.  From  the 
church  the  Queen  proceeded,  amids  the  shouts  of  the  crowd, 
to  her  splendidly  arranged  dwelling;  handkerchiefs  were 
waved,  rose-leaves  fell.  The  bright  sunny  afternoon  had  now 
given  place  to  the  brilliant  night,  and  Granada  had  become 
like  a  fairy  city ;  we  were  amidst  the  enchanted  scenes  of  the 
Arabian  Nights.  High  over  the  streets  hung  bright  blazing 
lamps  like  a  cloud  of  brilliant  humming-birds. 

From  here,  through  the  temporary  triumphal  arch,  we  en- 
tered into  the  new  Alameda,  which  extends  to  the  city  walls, 
along  the  River  Darro  ;  large  colored  balloons  were  here  sus- 
pended in  rows,  also  garlands  upon  garlands :  each  house  dis- 
'  played  some  new  invention  by  way  of  illumination.  Our  hotel 
was  but  sparingly  lighted ;  it  made  the  barracks  near  look  the 
more  brilliant ;  there  were  rows  of  lamps  in  every  story,  every 
corner,  every  nook :  it  brought  forth  the  form  of  this  rather 
peculiar  building  in  an  outline  of  fire ;  it  seemed  as  if  every 
inferior  style  of  architecture  had  been  united  in  this  structure. 
Here  were  heavy  walls,  as  if  belonging  to  some  Gothic  castle ; 
here  were  columns,  spiral  formed,  as  they  were  found  in  King 
Solomon's  temple ;  and  in  the  niches  stood  rococo  statues  and 
grenadiers  with  bishops'  hats,  the  one  object  more  absurd  than 
the  other. 

An  immense  concourse  of  people  were  streaming  in  every 
direction ;  all  the  benches  were  occupied,  and  persons  were 
sitting  upon  chairs  in  front  of  the  houses  ;  but  farther  beyond, 
where  the  new  Alameda  ended,  the  illuminations  and  the  prom- 
enaders  also  terminated :  here  commences  the  old  Alameda, 
which,  forming  an  angle,  runs  parallel  with  the  city  walls  of 
Granada.  I  know  no  more  noble  walk  that  this,  so  thoroughly 
southern,  so  heavenly  during  the  hot  summer  months.  Here, 
7 


98  IN  SPAIN. 

as  I  nave  already  said,  it  was  quite  deserted ;  not  a  soul,  not  a 
single  lamp,  was  to  be  seen. 

Aged,  wonderfully  high  trees  stand  here  in  rows,  twining 
their  thick  leafy  branches  together,  and  forming  a  roof  of 
foliage  quite  impervious  to  the  sun's  rays.  Laurel-bushes, 
oleanders,  and  thick  hedges  protect  the  sides  from  the  pene- 
trating sun  ;  the  River  Xenil  flows  close  by,  soon  to  unite  with 
the  Darro ;  the  children  have  a  little  song  respecting  the 
meeting  of  the  two  rivers :  — 

Darro  has  a  promise  made, 
On  his  marriage  with  Xenil, 
To  bring  us  as  a  morning  gift 
Plaza  Nueva  and  Zacatin. 

Clear  water  in  stone  channels  streamed  on  both  sides  of 
the  allde,  and  in  these  are  two  gigantic  fountains  with  stone 
figures,  which  none  but  wild  fancy  could  have  created.  Only 
in  arabesque  have  I  seen  anything  to  equal  them,  something 
between  a  plant  and  a  human  monster.  In  their  very  hid- 
eousness  they  exercise  a  sort  of  influence  over  one.  One  can 
scarcely  turn  away  from  these  quaint,  peculiar,  wizard  forms. 
These  fountains  stand  there  as  excellent  specimens  of  the  or- 
naments of  a  period  long  gone  by,  still  living  with  their  rush- 
ing jets  of  water.  The  glimpses  of  sunshine  which  in  the  day 
penetrate  here,  are  like  smiles  from  those  past  times  ;  the  dark- 
ness of  the  evenings  has  always  remained  unchanged.  No 
gas  lamps  illumine  here  with  their  light,  telling  of  the  new 
times.  All  the  festive  splendor  for  Isabella  II.  faded  in  the 
shade  of  this  sanctuary. 

"  It  is  perfectly  safe  all  over  Spain  now !  "  I  had  been  told  ; 
"  but,"  added  this  one  and  that  one,  "  after  sunset  one  should 
not  exactly  go  alone  in  the  old  Alameda  of  Granada."  Yet 
just  here  it  was  so  strangely  inviting ;  here  the  mind  was  ele' 
vated  above  the  trifling  concerns  of  every-day  life.  And  at  the 
present  moment,  when  the  new  Alameda  close  by  was  filled 
with  people  on  account  of  the  festivities,  when  every  one  was 
gay  and  full  of  happiness,  who  would  think  of  committing  an 
evil  act?  It  was  too  enticing  to  escape  from  the  buzzing 
crowd,  too  luring  to  enter  the  almost  pitch-dark,  wide,  tranquil 
allee,  where  the  rippling  waters  alone  spoke  of  life  and  motion. 


GRANADA. 


99 


I  sauntered  a  few  steps  along,  with  my  arm  stretched  out 
before  me,  to  prevent  my  running  up  against  anything.  Fai 
off  in  the  allde  I  observed  a  bright  spot  which  seemed  to  be 
in  motion.  Some  one  approached  with  a  light  in  the  hand  ; 
the  air  was  perfectly  calm  ;  no  lantern  was  necessary  here. 
One  could  boldly  carry  the  flickering  taper ;  it  would  not  go 
out.  It  was  a  young  girl,  a  child,  coming  toward  me ;  here 
under  the  Spanish  sun  she  might  have  been  a  lovely  youthful 
bride.  She  was  frightened  at  meeting  me,  poor  little  thing  I 
She  had  not  expected  to  meet  any  one  here  in  the  dark,  remote 
Alameda.  She  was  coming  from  a  friend,  whose  mother  was 
following  her,  and  was  going  to  a  far  distant  part  of  the  bril- 
liantly lighted  promenade.  The  young  girl  was  her  own 
torch-bearer ;  she  herself  carried  the  candle  which  shone 
upon  her  lovely  countenance.  She  stood  still,  trembling; 
stood,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  like  a  gazelle  about  to  bound  for- 
ward. 

"  Do  not  think  badly  of  me  !  "  said  the  maiden. 

"  I  think  nothing  but  good  ! "  I  answered,  as  well  as  I 
could  express  myself,  though  that  was  in  such  sorry  Spanish 
that,  with  the  pleasant  confidence  Cervantes  has  taught  us  to 
know  has  its  home  in  this  land,  she  was  quickly  reassured. 

"  You  are  not  a  Spaniard  ?  "  she  asked. 

I  said  that  I  came  from  the  far  North,  from  Denmark, 
where  once  the  Spaniards  had  been,  and  that  in  my  home  we 
loved  the  Spaniards. 

"  I  was  a  child  then,"  I  said  ;  "  a  Spanish  soldier  took  me 
up  in  his  arms,  kissed  me,  and  pressed  a  picture  of  the 
Madonna  upon  my  lips.  This  is  my  earliest  recollection.  I 
was  then  three  years  of  age  !  " 

She  understood  what  I  related.  She  smiled,  and  seized 
my  hand  ;  hers  was  so  soft.  The  press  of  that  hand  was  like 
a  kiss,  a  child's  kiss. 

Henceforth,  from  this  evening,  I  will  chivalrously  defend 
the  Spanish  women.  But  what  became  of  her?  Tell  me 
some  more.  It  was  my  muse  whorr.  I  met  —  the  gitana  with 
the  sea-blue  eyes.  It  was  dark,  pitch-dark  around,  when  she 
vanished  ;  and  therefore,  in  honor  of  her,  I  will  illuminate  the 
whole  alMe  with  my  poem  on  Granada. 


IOO  I 

O,  happy  I !  for  Granada  I  see, 

That  ancient  city  with  such  memories  fraught ; 

Like  Rome,  awakening  a  deep  mine  of  thought, 
The  heart  soon  learns  to  feel  at  home  in  thee  ! 
There's  not  a  cloud  upon  the  distant  skies  ; 

The  mountains  round  are  glittering  white  with  snow ; 

On  Alameda,  crowds  move  to  and  fro ; 
Midst  them  the  gypsy's  plaintive  songs  arise. 
Blue  eyes  in  her  as  in  the  North  are  found  ; 

Blossoms,  snow-white,  wave  in  her  glossy  hair  ; 

She  has  the  mermaid's  glance  and  beauty  rare  : 
Wanderer  !  with  her  bright  chains  art  thou  not  bound  ? 

Yes  —  blue  as  ocean  is  her  sparkling  eye, 

But  like  the  wood-snail's  skin,  her  hair  is  dark ; 
And  through  that  speaking  eye  well  may  one  mark 

The  thoughts  that  deep  within  her  bosom  lie. 

She  is  as  fresh  as  is  a  luscious  grape  ; 
A  fountain  full  of  kisses  are  her  lips. 
But  he  who  from  that  fount  unwisely  sips, 

Finds  that  for  him  there  can  be  no  escape. 

Gazing  on  her  a  vision  o'er  me  stole  : 

We  sat  the  bright  pomegranate-trees  among 
Whose  glowing  fruit  and  blossoms  o'er  us  hung, 

And  her  melodious  voice  entranced  my  soul ! 

In  storied  Granada  I  fain  would  dwell, 

For  Fancy  rears  her  fairy  palace  here ; 

But  down  at  Malaga,  the  blue  sea  near, 
Dig  me  a  grave,  where  the  wild  billows  swell : 
Yes,  dig  my  grave,  where  calmly  I  may  lie, 
While  murmuring  waves  shall  sing  my  lullaby- 
Once  in  the  North,  upon  a  grassy  mound 

My  name  I  cut  —  but  there  it  might  not  stay ; 
Fresh  grass  soon  hid  it,  growing  thick  around  : 

Do  not  all  earthly  memories  pass  away  ? 

But  poems  and  blooming  flowers  disappear  amidst  the  rich 
pomp  around.  Blazing  rockets  were  fired  off;  the  moon  it- 
self came  forth  like  in  Wandsbecker's  "  Messenger,"  and 
shone  amidst  the  illuminations,  and  upon  the  snow-capped 
Sierra  Nevada.  Gay  doings,  such  as  there  had  been  this  day, 
this  evening,  and  this  night,  continued  during  six  whole  days 
and  nights,  throughout  the  whole  time  that  the  Queen  honored 
Granada  with  her  presence.  Here  there  was  such  an  im- 
mense deal  to  be  seen  that  it  cannot  be  described  in  detail 


GRANADA.  1OI 

I  roamed  about  by  day  and  by  night,  wherever  my  feet  led 
me.  The  romantic  became  commonplace. 

Triumphal  arches  were  erected  upon  the  public  plazas, 
nearly  all  in  the  Moorish  style.  The  most  beautiful  and  the 
most  richly  decorated  was  on  the  grand  plaza,  — 

—  near  the  gate  of  Bivarrambla, 

where,  in  ancient  times,  tournaments  were  held.  Even  now, 
as  in  those  so  often  described  and  so  often  sung  festivals, 
every  balcony  was  brilliant  with  variegated  drapery  and  beau- 
tiful women  ;  and  there,  where  the  tournament  combat  itself 
took  place,  stood  small  gardens,  and  the  water  sprouted  from 
artistically  imitated  lilies  and  tulips. 

Upon  the  Plaza  Nueva,  where  the  street  ends  above  the 
Darro,  there  was  a  perfect  scene  of  painted,  cut-out  tin  figures, 
representing  Moors  and  Spaniards  in  battle.  They  were  ar- 
ranged upon  small  terraces  covered  with  moss,  and  shot  at 
each  other  jets  of  water ;  branches  of  myrtle,  stuck  into  the 
ground  all  round,  represented  large  trees.  Here  one  was 
sure  to  encounter  crowds  of  children  and  gay-hearted  peasan- 
try, charming  figures,  picturesque  groups  ;  yet,  now  and  then, 
one  did  meet  with  a  sight  which  shocked  the  eye.  I  saw  here 
a  deformed  person  ;  she  was  born  with  only  one  arm.  To  ex- 
pose it  to  view,  the  white  linen  sleeve  had  been  torn  off;  high 
up  on  the  shoulder,  where  the  arm  should  begin,  a  small  piece 
of  flesh  protruded  itself,  resembling  a  finger ;  this  had  only 
one  joint,  which  was  always  kept  moving,  in  order  to  attract 
attention.  At  the  entrance  of  the  cathedral  lay  two  albinos, 
father  and  son  ;  they  were  beggars.  It  appeared  as  if  they 
were  asleep,  as  if  they  were  always  asleep,  even  when  peals  of 
bells  and  hurrahs  were  resounding  through  the  air.  One 
single  time,  as  if  he  had  been  a  somnambulist,  the  father 
raised  himself  up,  winked  his  red  eyes  under  their  white  eye- 
lashes, and  stretched  out  his  hands  for  alms.  Here,  on  the 
outside  of  the  church,  many  persons  might  be  induced  to  give 
charity.  Two  defenseless  bats  in  human  forms  !  The  white 
mouse  and  the  white  rabbit  were  their  light-shunning  com- 
rades ;  day  was  their  torment,  night  their  best  time.  But 
now  night  was  as  dazzling  as  the  day,  such  a  sea  of  light 


IO2  IN  SPAIN. 

streamed  through  the  ancient  city  of  the  Moors.  Different, 
indeed,  but  not  more  gorgeous,  had  been  the  solemnities  and 
pomp  when  the  Zegris  and  Abencerrages,  in  golden  armor, 
with  waving  banners  and  showy  mottoes,  rode  forth  to  battle 
and  tournament ;  the  crescent  glittered,  and  the  beautiful 
daughters  of  the  East  gazed  after  them  from  their  silk-lined 
balconies.  I  had  witnessed  the  most  splendid  festival  known 
in  Granada  of  the  present  day.  The  festival,  with  all  its 
gorgeous  coloring  and  Oriental  brightness,  impressed  itself 
upon  my  remembrance.  Song,  castanets,  and  other  instru- 
ments mingled  their  tones  with  the  church-bells'  peals.  Such 
sounds  do  not  go  into  one  ear  and  out  at  the  other.  The 
beautiful  and  the  grand  dwell  in  recollection. 

Granada  has,  like  Rome,  been  to  me  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting places  in  the  world  —  a  spot  to  which  I  thought  I  could 
attach  myself  for  life.  Yet  in  both  places  I  happened  to  ex- 
perience less  pleasing  than  painful  feelings. 

Job  in  the  Bible  surely  you  know  well, 

And  all  that  patient  mortal  which  befell,  — 

How  his  friends'  cruel  words  killed  him  not  quite, 

And  how  his  potsherd's  scraping  was  not  slight. 

It  left  a  mark  unto  his  latest  year, 

And  this  my  verse  may  such  a  mark  appear  ! 

And  in  such  a  frame  of  mind  one  writes  verses  —  verses  in 
a  bitter  style.  I  did  so.  As  a  punishment  the  verses  shall 
be  printed ;  they  have  not  deserved  it,  but  I  have  deserved  it. 

To  your  kindred  and  people  your  heart  you  may  give, 

But  if  thanks  you  expect,  you  are  only  an  ass  ; 
If  distant  and  cold  among  them  you  live, 

Unheeded,  if  not  with  respect,  you  may  pass. 
To  vex  or  to  hurt  you  none  of  them  tries ; 
They  do  not  surround  you  like  buzzing  flies, 

But  loudly  abuse  you  your  back  behind- 
Trust  not  to  the  friend  whom  you  think  you  know, 
For  he  may  be  only  a  hidden  foe : 

O  !  dream  not  of  joy,  for  sorrow  you'll  find  I 

With  this  verse  in  my  mind  I  wandered  about  the  streets 
of  Granada.  There  was  merriment  all  around.  Peasants 
and  soldiers  sat  at  tables  with  Xeres  and  Malaga  wine  in 


GRANADA 


103 


large  beer-glasses,  and  biscuits  and  grapes  lay  heaped  up 
before  them.  Fireworks  blazed  from  the  Alhambra ;  the  villas 
up  yonder,  on  the  slopes  of  the  mountain,  were  brilliant  from 
the  rows  of  lamps.  Go  where  you  would,  there  were  crowds, 
mirth,  and  good  temper.  All  was  animation  around  me,  while 
the  seed  of  thought  shot  forth  twigs  that  soon  increased  to  a 
tree,  from  which  the  black  bitter  fruits  could  be  shaken  down 
into  verse.  A  single  one  of  those  fruits  will  be  sufficient. 

She  to  whom  my  heart  was  true 

Trod  on  me  with  her  foot  so  small ; 
They  who  my  inmost  feelings  knew 
Dirt  from  the  street  upon  me  threw. 

My  sighing  when  I  left  them  all 

Ingratitude  they  chose  to  call. 
There  blows  an  ice-cold  cutting  wind. 
Like  poison  entering  my  mind, 
The  course  from  human  hearts  it  takes, 
They  care  not,  although  mine  it  breaks. 

Hitherto  in  Spain  I  had  neither  seen  a  Spanish  comedy, 
nor  a  Spanish  ballet ;  it  was  not  the  season  for  them  to  be 
given  ;  but  on  account  of  the  great  influx  of  people  during 
the  festival,  the  theatre  had  been  opened  in  Granada.  It  was 
situated  close  to  the  Fonda  de  la  Alameda.  The  interior  had 
been  fresh  painted  and  decorated  by  festoons  of  red  and 
green  silk ;  upon  the  stage,  there  were  the  frightful,  worn-out 
old  folded  screens  I  had  seen  before.  This  evening  a  vaude- 
ville and  a  ballet  were  given. 

In  a  foreign  land  where  no  one  knows  you,  or  may  not 
know  you,  you  enjoy  the  pleasant  feeling  of  belonging  to 
yourself  alone  ;  you  are  not  surrounded  by  thousands  of  faces, 
known  or  unknown ;  you  need  entertain  no  fears  that  the 
opinion  you  have  ventured  to  express  will  be  scoffed  at,  and, 
like  the  cracking  of  a  whip  upon  the  Alps,  cause  an  avalanche 
of  mortification  to  roll  over  you ;  you  discover  at  once  that 
you  sit  in  a  circle  of  pleased  spectators,  or  in  a  circle  of  small 
Jupiters  from  the  Olympus  of  the  critics ;  you  dare  to  pass 
over  mediocrity  without  the  circle  being  offended  by  or  even 
remarking  it ;  you  see  and  speak  of  the  faults  of  those  who 
hold  the  first  ranks  on  the  stage,  and  can  venture  to  applaud 
talent  which  has  not  yet  come  into  fashion. 


104 


IN  SPAIN. 


With  this  feeling  of  assurance  I  entered  the  theatre ;  witu 
this  feeling  of  assurance  I  sat  there  and  heard  the  drawling, 
indifferent  orchestra.  I  resigned  myself  to  the  decorations 
of  the  orchestra  stalls,  resigned  myself  even  to  the  comedy 
which  wa?  being  performed,  and  so  carelessly,  that  I  immedi- 
ately perceived  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  art.  All  my  expecta- 
tions were  now  concentrated  in  one  focus  —  in  the  ballet ;  I 
had  not  yet  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  one  in  Spain ;  on 
none  of  the  stages  had  I  witnessed  Spanish  dancing  in  a 
Spanish  land.  Only  in  the  streets  and  in  anterooms,  in  Mur- 
cia  and  Cartagena,  had  I  heard  the  castanets  struck  by  the 
people  themselves,  and  had  seen  the  Boleros  and  Sequidillas, 
these  graceful,  almost  approaching  to  passionate  dances  — 
what  would  not  the  stage  now  have  to  offer  me ! 

The  ballet  began  —  it  ended.  I  sat  out  the  whole.  The 
piece  was  a  sort  of  commencement  of  one  of  Casorti's  panto- 
mimes. 

A  fearfully  tall  individual,  who  looked  like  an  awkward 
journeyman,  stepped  forward,  enveloped  in  a  mantle,  a  guitar 
in  his  hand  ;  he  grasped  the  strings  ;  the  beloved  appeared 
at  the  window  holding  her  fan ;  she  soon  descended  to  the 
street ;  but  no  time  was  allowed  to  the  pair  to  express  their 
love  in  dancing ;  the  maiden's  father  hastened  out  of  the 
house  ;  the  lover  cast  his  mantle  over  her,  and  she  ran  off,  and, 
to  give  her  a  start,  he  placed  himself  with  his  cigar  in  the 
old  man's  way,  begging  permission  to  light  it  by  his  cigar, 
which  could  not,  of  course,  be  refused  ;  they  both  made  a 
shuffling  with  their  feet ;  it  was  very  difficult  to  light  the  cigar; 
when  at  length  it  did  catch,  the  damsel  was  far  away,  and 
both  gentlemen  rushed  after  her.  Changement.  The  scene 
turned  into  a  sort  of  public  garden,  where  a  number  of  young 
women  were  gathered  together ;  they  danced  with  the  casta- 
nets, but  it  seemed  as  if  they  had  not  learned  to  do  so,  as  if 
they  had  never  been  in  Spain.  It  was  an  assembly  of  ugly 
women  ;  it  must  have  been  difficult  to  find  so  many  in  Anda- 
lusia. Now  entered  the  lovers,  whom  the  young  women  im- 
mediately requested  to  perform  a  dance.  The  dance  began, 
but  just  then  the  father  arrived,  and  he  fell  into  good  hands  ; 
each  damsel  seized  on  him  and  whirled  him  round,  each  third 


GRANADA.  IOC 

damsel  bi ought  him  a  dram,  he  drank  it,  became  merry  and 
sociable,  the  lovers  knelt,  he  blessed  them,  and  the  whole 
party  danced  the  Madrelena.  This  was  the  ballet. 

I  clasped  my  hands  and  cried,  not  "  Allah! "  but  "  Bournon- 
ville  !  Bournonville,  how  great  you  are  !  "  1  I  rushed  out  into 
the  fresh  air,  into  the  illuminated  city,  over  which  the  moon  was 
sailing ;  I  had  seen  enough  of  the  theatre  in  Granada ;  I  had 
seen  art  there.  On  the  following  morning  I  was  to  see  the 
exhibiton  at  the  Academy  of  Arts. 

Colonel  Larramendi  accompanied  us  to  the  academy.  First 
came  specimens  of  the  productions  of  nature  from  various 
parts  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  —  colossal  pears,  melons, 
onions,  pumpkins, —  all  very  fine  ;  one  could  not  say  the  same  of 
every  object  here  which  proceeded  from  the  hand  of  art.  Spain 
has  Murillo  and  Velasquez  ;  new  names  of  importance  are  now 
printed  in  the  yearly  catalogues.  Here,  as  in  other  countries, 
there  are  swarms  of  artists,  all  wish  to  have  their  light  upon 
the  high  altar  of  art,  and  there  are  many  lights  ;  the  large  wax- 
tapers  of  the  altar  ignite,  burn,  give  light  for  others,  and  con- 
sume themselves.  This  is  their  history  ;  but  they  are  not  all 
consecrated  wax  candles  which  are  set  up ;  there  are  various 
kinds  of  lights,  —  spermaceti,  wax,  and  tallow  candles  ;  some 
are  moulded,  many  only  dipped  ;  some  burn  with  long  wicks, 
some  run,  others  sputter ;  these  have  water  in  the  tallow. 

Such  had  often  been  my  impression  at  the  various  exhibi- 
tions which  I  visited,  and  I  felt  the  same  here.  What  pleased 
me  most  were  the  pictures  of  a  young  Spaniard  called  Martin, 
whose  acquaintance  I  made  before  leaving  the  exhibition. 
The  academy  awarded  him  a  prize  for  a  picture  from  sacred 
history ;  I  would  have  given  it  to  him  for  his  pieces  of  every- 
day life. 

The  Queen  was  to  drive  to-day  up  to  the  Alhambra,  on  to 
the  splendid  villa  of  the  banker  Calderons.  We  were  to  see 
the  cortege  pass  from  a  garden  situated  in  a  street  near  the 
gate.  Colonel  Larramendi  took  us  there ;  an  elderly  baroness 
and  her  daughter  occupied  the  house.  There  were  many 

1  Herr  Bournonville  is  the  ballet-master  at  the  opera  in  Copenhagen.— 
Trans 


IO6  IN  SPAIN. 

guests  there,  mostly  all  ladies  ;  we  sat  out  on  the  terraces  upon 
the  garden  wall,  under  the  shade  of  large  trees  hanging  with 
quinces  and  pomegranates.  The  ladies  plucked  roses  and  let 
their  delicate  leaves  flutter  down  upon  the  Queen  as  she 
drove  past  the  terrace.  The  young  servant-girl  of  the  house, 
in  a  black  silk  dress  like  the  others,  and  the  prettiest  of  them 
all,  also  sent  the  rose-leaves  flying  down ;  how  pretty,  young, 
slender,  graceful  she  was !  She  had  sea-blue  eyes,  long  black 
eyelashes  and  eyebrows,  shining  teeth,  and  a  smile  round  her 
mouth.  She  full  well  perceived  that  I  admired  her  beauty ; 
she  plucked  a  sweet-scented  flower,  gave  it  to  me,  and  flew 
away  like  a  swallow  on  the  wing. 

I  saw  the  Queen  once  or  twice  again  from  my  own  balcony ; 
she  drove  with  her  husband  and  children  out  into  the  cam- 
pagna  as  far  as  the  laurel-tree  beneath  which,  during  the  battle 
with  the  Moors,  Isabella  I.  hid  herself,  when  she  had  very  nearly 
been  made  prisoner.  This  tree  and  the  small  property  upon 
which  it  stands  the  reigning  Queen  has  now  bought  ;  the  way 
to  it  leads  over  the  Xenil  and  Darro,  where  the  two  rivers 
unite.  The  water  in  the  bed  of  the  River  Darro  was,  at  that 
time,  not  wider  than  an  ordinary  gutter ;  one  could  easily  have 
stepped  over  it ;  the  Xenil  looked  like  a  shallow  brook ;  so 
insignificant  appeared  at  that  moment  these  two  rivers,  which 
in  history  and  song  have  gained  such  great  names  ;  after  such 
torrents  of  rains  as  we  had  witnessed  in  Barcelona,  however, 
they  might  well  deserve  their  proud  character. 

After  a  stay  of  six  days  devoted  to  gayety  and  festivity,  the 
Queen  left  Granada  to  visit  Malaga. 

Collin  and  I  moved  up  to  the  Alhambra,  to  the  "  Fonda  de 
los  siete  suelos,"  which  is  situated  close  to  the  walls  of  the 
Alhambra,  near  the  walled-up  gate  through  which  the  Moorish 
king,  Boabdil,  rode  forth  when  fate  decreed  that  he  should  be 
conquered  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  thrust,  with  his 
people,  from  the  land  which,  for  centuries,  had  known  them  as 
masters. 

Below  in  Granada  they  were  still  experiencing  warm  sum- 
mer days,  but  up  here,  in  "  siete  suelos,"  it  was  quite  cool ;  the 
rays  of  the  sun  but  rarely  penetrated  into  our  rooms  through 


GRANADA. 


107 


the  foliage ;  one  dwells  here  amidst  shady  trees,  near  splash- 
ing fountains  and  rippling  waters  ;  it  must  be  heavenly  here 
during  the  glowing  summer  time  ;  now  it  was  not  warm  enough 
for  me ;  the  dinner  table  was  spread  in  the  garden  among  the 
vines,  the  waiters  ran  about  with  their  shirt-sleeves  tucked  up, 
lightly  enough  dressed  for  an  African  heat.  I  put  on  my  win 
ter  coat  when  I  sat  at  table  here.  The  water  was  charmingly 
fresh  and  cold  ;  it  tasted  better  to  us  than  the  invariably  heated 
Spanish  wine  ;  but  the  cold  water  up  above  here  is  melted  snow 
from  the  Sierra  Nevada,  and,  notwithstanding  its  good  taste,  is 
by  no  means  healthy.  Before  I  had  given  it  a  thought,  I  felt 
quite  ill.  When  Collin  returned  in  the  burning  sunshine  from 
one  of  his  excursions,  his  head  was  splitting ;  he  was  worse  than 
I  was ;  he  went  immediately  to  bed,  and  requested  to  have  a 
doctor  sent  for.  But  where  was  one  to  be  found  ?  I  hurried 
down  to  Granada ;  Larramendi  hunted  up  the  doctor  belong- 
ing to  the  Regiment  Cordoba,  and  he  promised  to  come  to  us 
immediately.  When  I  got  home  to  the  Alhambra  I  was  ner- 
vous to  such  a  degree,  and  so  weakened  that  I  had  very  nearly 
'  dropped.  The  doctor  found  us  both  suffering  ;  Collin  was  in  a 
high  fever.  It  was  a  long,  painful  night  which  followed. 
.One  should  not  fall  ill  on  a  journey,  and  if  one  does  do  so, 
it  becomes  a  very  serious  matter ;  but  in  such  serious  hours 
one  learns  to  value  friends,  and  to  weigh  what  we  are  to  each 
other  ;  one  forgets  one's  self.  Sympathies  are  awakened  ;  they 
strike  roots  round  the  tree,  which  one  could  so  willingly 
believe  will  grow  into  eternity. 

Already  on  the  following  day  we  felt  ourselves  better  ;  and 
the  day  after  that  again,  we  were  able  to  recommence  our  little 
excursions :  mine  were  and  remained  so  daily,  to  the  neigh- 
boring Generalife,  the  summer  residence  of  the  Moorish 
kings,  the  sultanas'  shady  garden  with  its  rippling  reservoirs. 

A  few  steps  from  the  "  Fonda  de  los  siete  suelos,"  outside 
the  ancient  walls  of  the  Alhambra,  stands  a  venta ;  a  grape 
vine  near  it  spreads  a  leafy  canopy,  beneath  which  peasants 
and  citizens  often  sit  and  enjoy  their  wine ;  a  little  brook 
with  clear  crystal  water  forms  a  boundary  between  it  and  the 
road :  there  is  neither  bridge  nor  plank  across  the  brook  ;  one 
steps  over  upon  a  couple  of  large  stones  which  have  been  flung 


IO8  /A'  SPAIN. 

down.  Behind  the  house  a  broad  path  leads  to  an  extensive 
vineyard  and  orchard,  filled  with  orange-trees,  pomegranates, 
poplars,  and  elms.  Far  back  in  this  garden  lies  a  pretty 
shining  white  villa ;  an  alMe  of  old  cypresses  and  vines  leads  to 
it ;  it  is  Generalife,  the  summer  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings, 
the  sultanas'  favorite  residence.  Here  are  still  preserved 
the  small  terrace-formed  gardens,  with  lovely  fragrant  flowers  ; 
and  through  it  flow  the  clear  running  mountain  streams. 
The  place  belongs  to  a  rich  Italian  family,  who  never  come 
here,  but  who  keep  it  in  order. 

With  a  few  strokes  of  the  iron  hammer  the  gate  opened,  and 
we  entered  a  small  oblong  garden,  where  the  blooming  myrtle 
hedges  have  been  cut  like  the  old-fashioned  box  borders  ;  the 
water,  clear  and  transparent,  ripples,  bubbles,  and  rushes 
through  a  long  marble  basin.  To  the  right  stood  walls  cov- 
ered with  creeping  plants  in  rich  profusion,  and  terraces  where 
you  saw  the  finest  dark-red  roses  growing,  and  where  aged 
cypresses  raised  their  dusky  green  columns.  To  the  left, 
vaulted  passages,  built  in  the  Moorish  style,  led  through  cor- 
ridors and  pavilions  connected  by  arches.  In  every  direction 
shone  forth  fantastic  arabesque  decorations  and  verses,  cut  and 
engraven  in  the  hard  porcelain  wall.  We  found  ourselves  in 
a  second  Alhambra,  not  so  extensive  or  gorgeous  as  the  vast 
kingly  palace  opposite,  but  breathing  more  of  life.  Rows  of 
portraits  looked  down  from  the  walls  upon  us ;  among  these 
were  Boabdil's  and  Ferdinand's  and  Isabella's.  The  garden 
was  just  as  it  stood  in  the  time  of  the  sultanas,  —  mighty  cy- 
presses, which  once  afforded  shade  to  those  distinguished  beau- 
ties, still  grow  in  full  vigor.  One  mounted  from  terrace  to 
terrace ;  the  ascent  consisted  alternately  of  marble  steps  and 
slanting  paths,  studded  with  small  bright  stones.  Above,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  garden  wall,  one  perceived  only  the  naked 
stony  ground ;  the  mountain  slopes  gently  upward ;  its  sum- 
mit is  crowned  by  the  ruins  of  an  old  Moorish  fort.  Once 
blooming  gardens  flourished  here  ;  now  only  the  thistly  cactus 
spreads  its  blossoms.  Far  down  below  the  Darro  flowed,  from 
the  opposite  banks  of  which  the  ground  inclines  upward 
slightly,  with  the  ruins  of  a  monastery  and  miserable  looking 
houses  amidst  extensive  rich  vineyards ;  here  had  once  stood 


GRANADA. 

splendidly  built  marble  baths  ;  gardeners  now  and  then  come 
upon  pavements  of  costly  mosaic ;  hedges  of  laurel,  growing 
wild,  spread  their  far-famed  green  branches  over  hidden  monu- 
ments. 

Generalife  attracted  me  more  frequently  than  the  Alhambra 
itself.  Here  the  air  was  perfumed  with  roses,  reminding  one 
of  the  poetry  of  ancient  times ;  the  clear  waters  rushed  along, 
murmuring  and  foaming  as  of  yore ;  the  primeval  cypresses, 
silent  witnesses  of  that  which  legend  and  song  portray,  stood 
rearing  their  fresh  branches  in  the  air  that  I  was  breathing. 
Here  I  lived  so  entirely  in  the  past,  that  it  would  scarcely  have 
surprised  me  if  forms  from  the  days  of  the  Moors,  in  rustling 
damask  and  dazzling  brocades,  had  glided  by  me. 

Poets  and  historians  describe  the  Abencerrages  as  the  most 
handsome  and  most  chivalrous  men  of  Granada.  Their  gen- 
erosity and  humanity  were  conspicuous,  and  it  is  related  that 
every  woman  of  the  land,  from  the  meanest  house  to  the  Al- 
hambra's  most  powerful  sultana,  had  the  greatest  sympathy 
for  this  race.  This  awakened  jealousy  in  the  equally  mighty 
Zegris,  which  soon  ripened  into  deadly  enmity.  When,  there- 
fore, down  in  Granada,  by  order  of  the  Moorish  kings,  a  tourna- 
ment, but  with  blunted  weapons,  was  to  be  held,  the  race  of 
the  Zegri  treacherously  came  with  pointed  spears,  and  entered 
the  lists  against  the  Abencerrages.  These  then  also  seized 
their  arms.  The  king  and  his  courtiers,  surprised  and  terrified, 
sprang  on  to  the  combat  ground,  and  succeeded  in  separating 
the  opponents.  Their  hatred  increased  in  the  course  of  years. 
There  came,  once  upon  a  time  —  so  historians  relate  —  four 
knights  from  the  race  of  the  Zegri  to  King  Boabdil,  and  told 
him  that  they  had  entered  the  garden  of  the  Generalife  at  a 
late  hour  in  the  evening,  and  had  there  beheld  one  of  the  proud 
Abencerrages  sitting  hand  in  hand  with  the  most  lovely  sul- 
tana, and  that  they  had  seen  and  heard  them  kissing  each  other. 
Boabdil,  in  a  furious  passion,  appointed  all  the  Abencerrages 
to  come  up  to  the  Alhambra.  They  entered  singly  into  the 
hall  which  still  bears  their  name.  Each,  as  he  came  in,  was  cut 
down,  and  his  head  was  thrown  into  the  large  marble  reservoir, 
from  which  the  blood  soon  dyed  the  water  in  all  the  canals  of 
the  Alhambra.  One  of  the  pages,  having  witnessed  the  mur- 


1  IO  IN  SPAIN. 

dei  of  his  master,  escaped  from  the  palace,  and  reached  the 
street  beneath,  where  he  met  a  new  troop  of  Abencerrages 
who  had  been  summoned  by  the  king.  These  he  warned,  and 
they  hastily  retreated. 

A  knightly  contest,  deemed  then  a  judgment  from  God, 
was  to  decide  the  fate  of  the  beautiful  but  unhappy  sultana. 
Clad  in  black  garments,  she  stood  on  the  public  market-place. 
The  four  Zegri  who  had  accused  her  stepped  forward,  well 
armed,  to  maintain  the  truth  of  their  assertions.  God  sent 
champions  for  her,  it  was  said,  who  in  the  contest  defended 
her  honor,  and  saved  her  by  killing,  in  fair  fight,  the  four 
Zegri. 

Ye  silent  lofty  cypresses  in  the  garden  of  the  Generalife, 
what  could  ye  not  relate  ?  What  have  ye  not  seen  ?  Boabdil's 
fall,  the  destruction  of  the  Moors  !  To  you  also  reached  the 
wail  of  woe  when  Alhama  fell. 

Throughout  the  streets  of  Granada 
In  sorrow  rides  the  Moorish  king  • 
From  Elvira's  gate  he  passes 
To  the  gate  of  Bivarrambla- 
Woe's  me,  my  Alhama  ! 

Letters  had  brought  news  to  him  — 
News  that  he  had  lost  Alhama ! 
He  flung  the  letters  to  the  ground, 
And  the  bearer  smote  to  death. 
Woe's  me,  my  Alhama  !  • 

And  he  alighted  from  his  mule, 
And  mounting  on  his  war-steed,  rode 
To  Alhambra — where  he  bade 
The  drums  and  silver  trumpets  sound. 
Woe's  me,  my  Alhama  ! 

And  the  Moors  gathered  together,  and  he  told  them  of  his 
loss ;  the  eldest  of  the  priests  then  predicted  his  fate  to  him. 

Thou  hast  but  met  with  thy  deserts, 
And  worse  awaits  thee  still,  O  king  ! 

And  he  named  the  Abencerrages,  the  strangers  in  Cordoba, 
and  his  doom.  The  song  concludes  with :  — 

As  thine  Alhama  thou  hast  lost, 
So  thou  shalt  too  thy  kingdom  lose. 
Woe's  me  my  Alhama ! 


GRANADA.  I  1 1 

Lofty  cypresses  in  Generalife's  garden,  ye  heard  it;  ye 
beheld  the  banners  of  the  Christians  float  for  the  first  time 
from  the  highest  towers  of  the  Alhambra.  Lofty  cypresses, 
ye  shall  grow  in  my  thoughts  when  I  again  wander  in  my 
northern  home  beneath  the  beech-trees,  or  sit  in  my  solitary 
chamber  by  the  bright  stove,  and  what  is  now  present  to  me, 
then  may  be  called  old  reminiscences. 

It  was  in  the  garden  of  the  Generalife  that  I  experienced 
the  first  touch  of  winter,  a  puff  of  wind,  a  kiss,  which  in  a 
second  scattered  the  yellow  foliage  from  the  leafy  trees.  I 
had  gone  from  my  room  in  "  de  los  siete  suelos  "  out  into  the 
sunshine ;  it  was  powerful  enough  to  warm  me  in  a  moment, 
when  I  was  freezing  in  the  shade-hidden  Fonda.  I  had  only 
a  few  hundred  steps  to  go  through  the  allee,  and  I  stood  upon 
the  ridge  of  the  mountain,  which  lay  opposite  Granada  ;  the  sun 
burnt  fiercely  here  and  almost  scorched  the  dusty  cacti,  that, 
with  their  heavy  leaves,  stretched  themselves  out  over  the  de- 
clivities. Here  stood  a  miserable  hovel,  in  which  a  gypsy 
family  lived ;  the  brown  children  ran  about  always  naked,  with 
>their  matted  black  hair  hanging  about  their  shoulders ;  all 
their  life  long  they  had  rejoiced  in  the  warm  sunshine  :  they 
never  felt  cold.  Far  beneath  me  I  saw  Granada's  streets ;  I 
saw  the  sunlit,  new  Alameda,  the  whole  luxuriant  campagna, 
the  rich  Vega ;  the  young  corn  in  the  fields  stood  as  fresh  and 
green  as  if  it  were  spring-time,  as  if  the  last  days  of  summer 
had  suddenly  sprung  over  the  winter,  and  had  now  already 
begun  to  rule  beneath. 

I  gazed  over  the  mountains,  beyond  which  Malaga  lies,  the 
direction  I  should  soon  be  travelling ;  the  Sierra  Nevada  raised 
its  green  terraces  high  above  copse-wood  and  orchards  ;  higher 
still  towers  the  mountain  in  wild  forms,  crowned  at  the  sum- 
mit with  eternal  snow  and  glaciers.  My  eye  followed  the 
Darro  and  Xenil,  which,  here  united,  winds  itself  amidst  the 
fruitful  valley.  Suddenly  beneath  yonder  smoke  ascends, 
spreading  itself  more  and  more,  like  the  smoke  from  the  forest, 
or  heath  on  fire ;  in  three  different  places,  far  off  it  was  to  be 
seen  ;  it  was  however,  neither  smoke  nor  fire  ;  it  was  the  dust 
of  the  high  road  lifted  by  a  gale  of  wind  and  driven  forward. 
All  around  where  I  was  standing,  a  dead  calm  reigned,  the 


112  IN  SPAIN. 

wind  had  not  yet  reached  so  high ;  but  a  few  minutes  later, 
when  I  went  from  here,  and  entered  the  garden  of  the  Gen- 
eralife,  suddenly  the  clouds  chased  each  other  across  the  sun, 
a  gust  of  wind  whistled  in  the  air,  the  leaves  fell :  it  was  as  if 
a  giant's  hand  shook  every  tree  in  the  garden.  It  became 
cold ;  in  an  instant  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  transported  to  my 
home  in  the  north ;  astonished,  I  hastened  from  the  garden, 
as  if  I  could  thus  escape  the  autumn.  From  the  south  came 
the  ice-cold  wind ;  it  passed  onward  with  the  clouds,  and  the 
sun  shone  still. 

The  north  had  cast  a  snow-ball  across  to  Africa's  sandy 
deserts  ;  this  was  cast  back  again  ;  hence  the  icy  wind,  that  not 
even  the  kisses  of  the  sun  could  soften.  Otherwise  than  this 
I  could  not  explain  it. 

If  I  wished  to  return  to  summer,  to  be  thoroughly  warmed 
through,  I  had  only  to  descend  to  the  streets  of  Granada ;  there 
the  air  was  warm,  and  the  white  houses  and  walls  reflected 
back  the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun  ;  the  same  glowing  air  per- 
vaded the  campagna.  To  enjoy  such  charming  heat,  again  to 
feel  that  I  was  in  sunny  Spain,  I  betook  myself  down  to  the  city, 
and  wandered  out  of  the  gates  towards  Cartuja,  to  the  Car- 
thusian monastery,  famed,  not  only  for  its  riches  and  great 
magnificence,  but  also  for  its  vast  and  beautiful  garden.  All 
strangers,  and  indeed  all  the  inhabitants  of  Granada  itself,  say : 
"If  you  have  not  seen  Cartuja,  you  have  not  seen  the  greatest 
attraction  which  Granada  has  to  offer :  nowhere  in  the  world 
is  such  loveliness  to  be  found ;  you  must  not  leave  without 
having  seen  Cartuja." 

The  road  to  the  monastery  was  dusty  and  long ;  the  sun's  rays 
were  scorching.  I  had  a  little  too  much  of  the  Spanish  sun. 
There  was  only  one  single  brother  of  the  order  left  in  the  mon- 
astery ;  he  conducted  us  round.  The  monks  of  the  monastery 
have  all  been  expelled.  There  was  a  profusion  of  gold  and 
marble  here  ;  but  it  appears  to  me  that  in  Italy,  more  particu- 
larly in  Rome,  I  had  seen  quite  as  much,  and  that  there  it  was 
displayed  in  more  tasteful  forms.  Of  all  the  magnificence  in 
Cartuja,  I  have  only  retained  a  lively  recollection  of  a  painted 
cross  upon  one  of  the  white  walls  of  the  hall.  It  is  impossible 


GRANADA.  \  \  3 

to  see  that  it  is  painted.  I  was  obliged  to  trust  to  the  word  of 
the  holy  brother,  and  not  to  my  own  eyes  ;  for  they  told  me  — 
that  is  a  real  cross  hanging  there.  The  church  doors  are  of 
ivory,  mother-of-pearl,  and  polished  sandal-wood.  This  is  the 
splendor  which  is  so  much  vaunted,  and  on  account  of  which 
Cartuja  is  compared  in  beauty  and  grandeur  to  the  Alhambra 
and  the  Generalife. 

The  road  back  to  my  hotel  led  me  through  the  gypsy  quarter 
—  a  straggling  village  in  a  cactus  desert ;  the  heavy  gray- 
green  leaves,  with  their  millions  of  prickles,  form  an  impenetra- 
ble thicket ;  the  red  fruit  comes  brightly  forth  from  among 
the  thorny-edged  leaves.  How  often  may  not  the  knife  have 
here  dealt  a  death-blow,  where  the  child  grows  up,  "  the  child 
born  in  sin ; "  but  how  often  have  not  also  here  God's  sun- 
shine and  love  shone  upon  His  creatures,  calling  forth  noble 
traits  worthy  to  be  celebrated  to  His  glory  and  their  honor  ? 
Mankind  is  created  in  God's  image ;  this  is  found  even  among 
the  race  of  Pariahs. 

Thou  charming  child  with  the  sea-blue,  intelligent  eyes, 
whom  I  once  saw,  whose  voice  I  heard  —  shall  I  meet  thee 
here  among  these  scattered,  wretched  hovels  ?  Thou  muse  of 
song,  from  the  land  of  imagination  ! 

Before  one  of  the  houses  sat  an  old  dark-brown  Gitana  in  a 
motley  colored  dress,  and  with  large  silver  rings  in  her  ears  ; 
her  grayish  hair  fell  about  her  almost  black  neck  ;  in  her  hand 
she  held  a  long  bamboo  —  she  groped  her  way  with  this. 
She  was  blind.  By  our  footsteps  she  perceived  that  we  were 
not  of  her  race.  She  held  out  her  hand.  I  dropped  a  peseta 
into  it ;  she  muttered  a  few  words  which  I  could  not  under- 
stand. Some  half-naked  sunburnt  children  ran  with  bare  feet 
quite  near  to  the  prickly  cacti,  and  cut  off  the  crimson  fruit 
with  a  long  knife  ;  black  eyes  sparkled  from  many  of  the  cabin 
windows,  but  the  muse  of  song  did  not  vouchsafe  to  appear, 
and  without  her  the  poet  could  not  attempt  to  sing.  Hence, 
no  poem  from  the  gypsy  village  is  given. 

The  sun  was  going  down  as  I  approached  the  Darro,  from 
whose  banks  rises  precipitously,  yet  overgrown  with  trees  and 
bushes,  the  mountain  ridge  on  which  stands  the  Alhambra. 
8 


U4  IN 

Here  was   a  peace,  a  solitude,  fraught  with   dreamy,  earnesl 
thought. 

Like  an  ^Eolean  haip  broken  in  two, 

But  hanging  still  in  Darro's  hilly  banks, 

I  see  thee  rich  in  ornament  and  grace. 

Alhambra  1  though  thy  greatest  beauty  lies 

In  the  soul-stirring  memories  of  the  past 

What  tones    still  issue  from  thy  fragile  strings  ? 

Sweet  tones  of  love,  mingling  with  warlike  sounds  — 

Clashing  of  swords  that  to  siroccos'  swell. 

Ah  !  broken  is  that  harp,  but  still  it  hangs 

Yonder,  amidst  the  weeping  cypresses  — 

It  is  Alhambra,  glorious  in  decay. 

Between  the  high  walls  of  the  Alhambra  and  the  garden  of 
the  Generalife,  not  far  from  the  Fonda  de  los  siete  suelos,  and 
close  to  the  little  venta,  a  carriage-road  leads  down  to  the 
town,  but  so  steep  that  conveyances  can  scarcely  be  driven 
along  it ;  an  arch  of  the  ancient  aqueduct,  which  conveyed 
water  from  the  Generalife  to  the  Alhambra,  forms  a  sort  of 
portal  across  the  road.  Fig-trees  and  blossoming  vines  clus- 
ter in  rich  profusion  over  both  sides  of  the  ruined  walls.  The 
clear  transparent  waters,  from  the  garden  of  the  Generalife, 
rippled  over  the  broken  stones.  In  the  ruined  walls  and  slopes 
of  the  earth  there  are  often  deep  cavities  ;  before  such  a  cavity 
I  frequently  saw  an  old  couple  sitting ;  it  is  possible  that  they 
actually  lived  there.  One  day  I  found  the  woman  cooking 
some  viands  over  a  small  fire  which  she  had  kindled ;  some- 
what later,  I  saw  both  of  them  smoking  one  cigar  —  that  is  to 
say,  they  changed  about  to  smoke  the  same  cigar  —  first  the 
man,  then  the  woman.  There  was  something  peculiarly  loving 
and  conjugal  in  this  act !  Had  this  scene  been  sketched, 
there  might  have  been  written  under  it,  —  "  Domestic  happi- 
ness, and  yet  only  one  cigar,"  to  say  nothing  of  their  having  no 
house  for  their  domestic  happiness  ! 

Over  steep  declivities  the  road  meanders  downward  between 
a  wall  of  the  Alhambra  and  abrupt  rocks.  It  is  as  if  kneaded 
together  of  clay,  lime,  and  small  stones :  some  parts  are  en- 
tirely overgrown  with  cacti,  and  here  and  there  you  see  what 
you  fancy  at  first  sight  to  be  a  heap  of  ruins ;  it  is  a  heap  of 
gigantic  leafy  plants.  This  is  one  of  the  most  romantic  ravine 


GRANADA.  \  \  $ 

pathways  that  can  be  imagined.  At  each  turn,  looking  for- 
ward or  backward,  a  new  view  presents  itself  —  steep  threaten- 
ing rocks,  red  walls,  and  towering  turrets,  One  of  these  tur- 
rets is  remarkably  beautiful ;  the  elegance  of  its  structme,  and 
its  genuine  Moorish  style  attracted  me  so  much,  that  I  could 
scarcely  take  my  eyes  from  it  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  one  of 
the  lovely  sultanas  of  yore  must  appear.  Here,  where  undis- 
turbed by  all  that  is  new,  one  dreams  one's  self  transported 
back  to  that  romantic  period  round  which  song  has  cast  its  un- 
fading chaplet  _- 

This  road  is  called  the  street  of  the  dead,  because  by  it,  at 
evening,  the  dead  are  conveyed  from  the  Alhambra  down  to 
Granada,  for  interment  I  often  wandered  up  and  down  it. 
A  bridge  here  leads  over  the  Darro.  On  the  road  close  to  it 
is  an  old  Moorish  bath-house.  This  has  been  turned  into  a 
dwelling-house  and  store-rooms,  for  the  paper  manufactory 
which  our  countryman,  Herr  WIsby,  superintends.  The  house, 
however,  does  not  bear  the  impression  of  the  former  Moorish 
style  :  it  has  not  the  light  columns,  the  horseshoe-formed  win- 
dows. It  is  clumsily  built,  with  a  quantity  of  rococo  orna- 
ments. An  arcade,  supported  by  pillars,  runs  round  the  four- 
cornered  garden,  in  which  roses,  oleanders,  and  pomegranate- 
trees  grow  wild.  Water  murmurs  and  ripples  here,  as  every- 
where else  in  Granada. 

Had  Salvator  Rosa  lived  here,  he  would  assuredly  have  se- 
lected the  street  of  the  dead  for  a  background  to  some  robber- 
Bcene.  It  was  most  nervous  work  to  walk  here  after  sunset  : 
the  tall  cacti  reared  their  ponderous  leaves  like  the  heads  of 
people  lurking  about  :  darkness  reigned  in  the  deep  clefts  of 
the  wall  and  in  the  chasms  in  the  earth  ;  and  if  you  met  only  a 
couple  of  armed  peasants,  or,  if  you  saw  masked  forms  bear- 
ing down  a  dead  person  in  an  open  coffin,  it  needed  not  the  ex- 
travagant fancy  of  a  Don  Quixote  to  transport  you  back  to  the 
days  of  chivalrous  and  lawless  deeds. 

This  was  an  inviting  spot  for  an  assault  We  had,  as  it  so 
happened,  a  slight  proof  of  this.  When  in  all  comfort  on  our 
balcony  we  witnessed  the  scene. 

Some  young  fellows  had  been  drinking  rather  too  much  at 
the  little  venta  near  the  garden  of  the  Generalife.  Their 


Il6  IN  SPAIN. 

sweethearts  had  been  with  them,  and  were  probably  the  cause 
of  the  quarrel. 

Collin  and  I  were  sitting  in  our  room,  when  we  heard  in  the 
distance  a  piercing  shriek.  I  fancied  it  was  the  cry  of  some 
animal.  It  was  repeated,  always  coming  nearer.  Soon  we 
perceived  that  it  was  women  who  were  giving  utterance  to 
these  screams  of  distress.  Our  opposite  neighbors  locked 
their  gates  and  doors  ;  we  did  the  same.  We  stepped  out  on 
our  balcony.  It  was  pitch  dark  in  the  allde  ;  from  our  Fonda 
alone  the  light  fell  across  the  road  to  the  white  wall  opposite. 
Some  one  screamed  aloud,  "  Help !  help  !  he  is  murdering  me ! " 
and  in  precipitous  flight  a  person  rushed  past,  pursued  by  two 
others.  We  saw  their  knives  glitter.  The  women  fled  among 
the  dark  bushes.  Deep  hoarse  men's  voices  swore  and  abused 
each  other ;  there  was  a  tremendous  noise  and  thumping. 
Each  blow  that  was  given  was  distinctly  heard  ;  it  sounded  as 
if  they  were  striking  each  other  with  enormous  cudgels.  They 
were  such  heavy  blows  that  one  single  one  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  have  annihilated  my  backbone.  It  was  cruel,  hor- 
rible ! 

The  following  morning  the  scene  of  the  fray  appeared  in  its 
usual  beauty  and  tranquillity.  The  sunbeams  played  through 
the  branches  of  the  trees  ;  the  fountains  splashed  ;  the  clear 
water  in  the  ditches  streamed  onward,  bearing  with  it  fresh- 
plucked  roses.  Castanets  sounded  ;  a  handsome  young  lad, 
clad  in  velvet,  with  well-combed  hair,  danced  in  the  middle  of 
the  dusty  road,  with  a  little  girl,  scarcely  twelve  years  of  age, 
poorly  but  cleanly  dressed ;  she  wore  a  corn-flower  blue  frock, 
a  rose-red  apron,  and  a  yellow  dahlia  drooped  in  her  black 
hair.  The  dance  was  graceful,  and,  as  it  proceeded,  full  of 
passion.  From  every  balcony  they  received  applause  and 
money. 

There  passed,  too,  a  band  of  gypsies  in  holiday  attire,  prob- 
ably a  whole  family,  the  women  equipped  in  violent  colors, 
and  with  fiery  red  flowers  in  their  shining  black  hair.  Even 
the  tiny  children  who  were  being  carried,  had  each  stuck  a 
blossom  in  its  hair.  They  were  wending  their  way  up  to  the 
Vlhambra. 


GRANADA.  117 

When,  somewhat  later,  I  also  mounted  up  there,  once  more 
to  gaze  upon  its  beauty,  I,  as  well  as  many  other  strangers, 
had  to  wait  a  long  time  before  we  could  be  admitted.  The 
lion  court  and  the  hall  of  the  "  Two  Sisters  "  were  being  photo- 
graphed by  a  celebrated  English  photographer,  by  permission 
of  Her  Majesty  the  Queen.  This  was  in  full  progress  ;  no 
one  was,  therefore,  allowed  to  go  in,  for  fear  of  disturbing  the 
picture.  We  saw,  through  the  open  arch,  what  was  going  on 
within.  The  gypsy  family  who  had  lately  passed  our  balcony 
had  been  ordered  to  come  up  here,  to  give  living  figures  to 
the  picture.  They  stood  and  lay  in  groups  round  the  court : 
some  of  the  smallest  children  were  perfectly  naked ;  two 
young  girls,  with  dahlias  in  their  hair,  stood  in  a  dancing  posi- 
tion, holding  castanets  ;  an  old,  fearfully  ugly  gypsy,  with  long 
gray  hair,  was  leaning  against  a  slender  marble  column,  as  he 
played  the  zambomba  —  a  sort  of  kettle-drum  ;  a  stout  but 
extremely  pretty  woman,  in  a  tucked-up  embroidered  dress, 
struck  the  tambourine.  The  picture,  which  I  cannot  give  in 
writing,  was  finished  in  a  moment.  Perhaps  I  may  see  it 
again,  but  too  surely  it  is  the  last  time  I  shall  ever  behold  the 
Alhambra. 


CHAPTER   X. 

FROM    GRANADA   TO  GIBRALTAR. 

ON  the  evening  of  Tuesday,  October  21,  we  left  Granada. 
Colonel  Larramendi  and  Herr  Wisby,  our  two  most  in- 
timate friends  in  the  city  of  the  ancient  Moors,  were  on  the 
spot;  also  my  little  friends,  Larramendi's  children,  to  cry 
"  Adios  !  vaya  usted  con  Dios  !  " 

The  diligence  was  a  sort  of  omnibus,  with  seats  on  each 
side  ;  it  was  almost  full ;  an  old  grandmother  took  up  most 
room  with  her  crinoline  —  it  was  large  enough  to  have  made 
an  awning  for  all  the  rest  of  us  in  the  carriage  ;  she  was  so 
profuse  of  her  kisses  also,  that  there  might  have  been  enough 
for  the  whole  party.  Three  young  lively  Spaniards  were  our 
fellow-travellers  ;  they  were  as  overflowing  with  popular  dit- 
ties, as  the  Darro  was  with  its  gold-bearing  waters.  We  had 
not  passed  the  extensive  suburbs  when  they  began  to  sing  all 
sorts  of  verses,  mostly  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  peasants 
in  Spain  as  well  as  in  Italy,  in  a  snuffling  manner,  with  long 
humming  tones.  This  was  very  interesting  for  the  first  three 
hours  ;  it  became  tiresome  after  that,  but  there  was  no  cessa- 
tion. Now  and  then  a  racy  song  was  sung,  as  I  judged  by 
the  words  I  could  understand,  and  by  the  peals  of  laughter 
from  the  young  men  after  each  verse.  The  old  grandmother 
took  no  notice  of  the  singing  ;  she  slept,  or  seemed  to  sleep. 
Amidst  the  noise  of  these  jovial  sounds  we  passed  over  the 
campagna,  where  here  and  there  a  light  glimmered  from  one 
of  the  many  country-houses,  or  a  torch  blazed  in  a  field. 

At  midnight  we  reached  Loja.  Here  we  parted  from  the 
musical  youths,  and  had  new  fellow-travellers,  a  whole  family  : 
the  man  was  a  tall,  dark,  gloomy-looking  person,  with  Spanish 
Grandezza ;  he  looked  very  solemn  and  was  called  Catedratico, 
which  means  professor :  his  wife  was  a  pretty  creature  with 


FROM  GRANADA    TO   GIBRALTAR.  119 

large  mild  eyes  ;  she  did  not  look  more  than  sixteen,  and  yet 
she  had  three  children ;  we  had  them  all  in  the  carriage ;  they 
would  not  sleep  without  a  light,  therefore  the  young  mamma 
sat  with  a  large  wax-candle  blazing  in  her  hand,  so  that  I  was 
nearly  blinded  by  it ;  and  when  she  wished  to  sleep,  the  father 
held  the  light,  and  when  he  became  sleepy,  the  nurse  had  to 
hold  it,  and  when  she  fell  asleep  and  was  on  the  point  of 
dropping  both  the  candle  and  the  baby,  her  neighbor  extin- 
guished the  light,  and  we  sat  in  sleep-courting  darkness  for  a 
short  time  ;  but  suddenly  the  youngest  child  began  to  scream 
for  light,  then  the  second  little  one  began,  and  then  the  third  ; 
there  was  a  general  awakening,  and  the  candle  was  lighted 
again. 

The  carriage  swayed  about,  tobacco  was  smoked,  the  young 
wife  became  sea-sick  :  these  were  the  incidents  of  the  night. 
Outside  of  the  omnibus  the  air  was  cold  and  damp ;  a  thick 
fog  lay  on  the  hills,  which  only  began  to  disperse  when,  at 
daylight,  we  reached  the  summit  of  one  of  them,  and  the  road 
led  down  to  Malaga.  Solitary  and  deserted  was  all  around 
us  :  we  drove  by  the  side  of  deep  abysses.  In  the  narrow  val- 
ley beneath  darkness  still  reigned,  while  we,  up  on  the  heights, 
saw  clearly  every  object  around  us.  The  bells  attached  to 
the  mules  seemed  to  make  a  greater  noise  in  the  profound 
stillness.  We  met  some  police-soldiers  on  horseback  ;  they 
rode  always  two  and  two.  They  had  lighted  a  large  fire  at 
one  place  on  the  dreary  road,  here  they  dismounted  from 
their  horses  and  warmed  themselves. 

And  now  the  sun  arose  in  all  its  glory,  and  displayed  the 
blue  ocean  to  us.  Malaga's  white  flat-roofed  houses,  the  im- 
mense cathedral,  and  the  Moorish  castle  on  its  elevated  posi- 
tion. Now  we  saw  the  Guadalmedina's  dried-up  bed ;  and 
soon,  amidst  large  dusty  cacti,  we  approached  the  town.  It 
was  like  going  home  to  return  here  again  ;  we  knew  the  place 
so  well,  and  we  were  received  at  the  hotel  like  old  friends. 

I  sat  again  on  the  balcony,  and  looked  down  on  the  Ala- 
meda.  It  appeared  as  if  the  same  human  beings  crowded  it, 
and  in  the  harbor  there  appeared  to  be  the  same  ships ;  but 
that  was  not  the  case,  for  all  the  Danish  vessels  had  sailed 
homeward  to  Denmark. 


I  2O  IN  SPAIN. 

I  hastened  to  call  on  Consul  Scholz  and  my  other  friends, 
and  received  the  warmest  welcome  from  them  all.  Again  I 
mixed  with  the  loiterers  on  the  Alameda,  again  walked  on  the 
sea-shore,  where  the  billows  were  dashing  high  in  the  air,  and 
again  I  drove  to  my  favorite  spot  —  the  Protestant  church- 
yard :  my  thoughts  had  often  wandered  to  it  when  I  was  so 
ill  at  Fonda  de  los  siete  suelos. 

By  the  mirror-clear  sea,  by  the  high-swelling  sea, 
O  dig  a  grave  for  me  ! 

I  sung  once  in  the  north,  under  the  beech-trees  ;  here,  under 
the  sighing  palms,  myrtles  bloom,  and  the  bachelor's  geranium 
grows  tall  and  vigorous. 

By  the  mirror-clear  sea,  by  the  high-swelling  sea ; 

but  the  sea  looked  darker  than  when  I  was  here  before,  and 
showed  that  a  storm  might  throw  it  into  violent  agitation ;  the 
wind  blew  sharply,  as  at  home  in  Denmark ;  the  skies  were 
overcast,  and  there  fell  heavy  drops  of  rain. 

The  day  after  there  appeared  in  the  Malaga  newspaper, 
"  Yesterday  winter  commenced ;  "  the  severe  weather  had 
begun,  but  it  would  not  become  more  severe,  else  there  is  no 
truth  in  the  lines,  — 

Malaga  la  pechicera, 

La  de  eterna  primavera. 1 

Already,  for  a  couple  of  weeks  past,  had  a  number  of  English 
with  chest  complaints  been  arriving.  This  is  a  sign  here  of 
the  approach  of  winter,  just  as  the  arrival  of  the  storks  at 
home  with  us  betokens  the  approach  of  spring. 

The  theatres  were  open.  The  Italian  opera  had  com-, 
menced  with  Verdi's  compositions,  "  Rigoletto,"  "  La  Travi- 
ata,"  and  "  Un  Ballo  in  Maschera."  These  were  now  to  be 
laid  aside  in  order  to  bring  out  a  German  piece,  namely,  Flo- 
tow's  opera,  "  Martha." 

As  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  ascertain,  not  a  single  opera 

of  Mozart,  not  even  his  immortal  composition,  so  essentially 

Spanish  in  subject, —  his  masterpiece,   "  Don  Giovanni,"  has 

reached  across  the  Pyrenees.     Flotow's  "  Martha  "  is  the  first 

1  Enchanting  Malaga,  with  everlasting,  spring. 


FROM  GRANADA    TO   GIBRALTAR.  121 

importation  from  Germany ;  the  light  and  sparkling  music  of 
France  and  Italy  precede  the  grander  tones  of  a  Mozart,  and 
a  Beethoven,  Carl  Maria  Weber,  Marschner,  etc.  etc. 

I  was  present  at  the  first  representation  of  "  Martha."  The 
principal  part  was  nicely  sung  by  a  Polish  lady,  the  tenor  was 
from  Russia,  the  other  singers  from  Italy.  The  decorations 
and  the  scenery  were  wretched,  but  the  voices  and  acting  very 
good,  yet  not  a  hand  was  raised  to  applaud  during  the  whole 
representation.  I  was  afterwards  informed  of  the  reason  of 
this  :  the  reigning  prima  donna  had  no  part  in  this  opera ;  she 
was  present,  however,  in  her  box  near  the  orchestra ;  she 
would  never  have  forgiven  her  public,  had  any  one  in  that 
house  been  greeted  with  praise  but  herself.  Still  she  was 
good-hearted,  for  between  the  acts  she  went  behind  the  scenes 
and  thanked  the  young  singer,  who  had  been  so  unnoticed  by 
the  spectators. 

The  house  contains  four  tiers,  but  there  were  not  many  peo- 
ple present ;  on  the  lowest  tier,  and  the  foremost  seats,  sat  a 
number  of  young  girls,  keeping  up  a  lively  conversation  with 
several  well-dressed,  stylish-looking  young  gentlemen.  When 
I  came  to  hear  their  ages,  I  found  that  they  were  all  merely 
children,  the  gentlemen  being  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  the 
ladies  about  eleven,  but  apparently  quite  come  to  maturity. 
The  young  ladies  agitated,  with  the  usual  coquettish  grace, 
their  glittering  fans,  and  tossed  their  heads  in  the  most  assured 
manner.  Pretty  little  things  !  one  of  them,  I  was  told,  had 
been  married  for  a  year,  and  was  already  a  mother. 

The  day  of  our  departure  came.  The  steamer  Paris, 
which,  after  having  left  Lisbon,  had  been  detained  by  a  storm, 
arrived  early  in  the  morning,  and  was  to  start  again  in  the 
evening  on  its  return  voyage.  We  took  our  places  on  board, 
and  when  I  was  packing  up  my  things  to  go,  I  received  a 
painful  surprise  —  a  shock  I  might  almost  say  —  I  was  thrown 
into  deep  distress.  Naturally  I  had  left  my  orders  at  home, 
in  Denmark,  but  I  had  taken  with  me  small  copies  of  these 
decorations,  all  strung  together  on  a  gold  chain  ;  among  them 
was  "  Nordstjernen  "  the  "  Northern  Star,"  the  identical  one 
which  Oehlenschlager  had  worn,  and  which  once,  when  I  was 
in  very  low  spirits  after  a  cruel  attack  made  on  me  as  a  poet 


122  /-V  SPAIN. 

by  a  harsh  critic,  he  gave  me  with  many  cheering  and  encour- 
aging words  ;  it  was  to  me  a  treasured  souvenir  of  him,  the 
only  one  I  possessed  ;  I  had  brought  it  with  me  as  an  amulet 
on  my  journey.  I  had  only  worn  this  decoration  once  in  Mal- 
aga, at  a  ceremonious  party,  and  at  Granada  I  had  only  shown 
it  to  one  of  my  friends,  and  then  put  it  carefully  away.  Sev- 
eral weeks  had  passed  since  then,  and  now,  on  opening  the 
box  in  which  it  ought  to  have  been,  I  found  it  was  gone.  I 
searched  everywhere,  shook  every  article  of  clothing  I  had, 
but  in  vain.  I  wrote  to  Herr  Wisby,  at  Granada,  about  it ;  he 
made  inquiries  at  both  the  Fondas  where  I  had  stayed,  and  in- 
stituted a  search  in  them.  Consul  Scholz  had  advertisements 
inserted  in  the  Granada  and  Malaga  newspapers,  describing 
the  decoration,  which  had  been  either  lost  or  stolen  ;  I  never 
recovered  it.  Oehlenschlager's  "  Northern  Star,"  which  he  had 
worn  himself,  and  which  he  had  given  me,  was  lost.  I  never 
saw  it  again.  I  was  much  grieved  to  lose  it,  and  even  now  I 
think  of  it  with  bitter  regret. 

Granada,  with  all  its  grandeur  and  beauty,  was  the  spot  in 
all  Spain  from  which  I  had  carried  away  the  most  disagree- 
able and  painful  recollections.  Our  visit  there  cost  much 
more  than  it  ought  to  have  done,  and  obliged  us  to  shorten 
by  some  weeks  our  stay  in  Spain.  In  Granada,  as  I  have 
related,  my  travelling  companion  and  I  became  ill ;  in  Gran- 
ada awaited  me  more  than  one  letter,  cruelly  cold  and  unkind, 
from  that  country  to  which  my  thoughts  and  my  affections 
were  bound.  I  had  a  taste  of  what  it  might  be,  so  to  speak, 
to  be  in  every-day  life,  equipped  in  rough  linsey-woolsey  rather 
than  in  smooth  velvet. 

To  your  kindred  and  people  your  heart  you  may  give, 
But  if  thanks  you  expect,  you  are  only  an  ass  ! 

Yes  ;  I  have  sung  these  lines  before,  but  I  shall  have  to 
repeat  them,  if  I  live. 

The  sun  was  still  shining  on  the  fort,  the  ancient  Gibralfaro, 
when  I,  with  our  consul,  in  his  boat,  rowed  out  to  the  steamer. 
The  evening  came  on  so  soon  and  suddenly,  that  I  preferred 
to  go  on  board  in  daylight.  Collin  joined  me  at  a  later  hour, 


FROM  GRANADA    TO   GIBRALTAR.  123 

but  quite  in  good  time  before  the  departure  of  the  ship,  which 
did  not  take  place  until  midnight ;  the  lights  in  the  town 
glimmered,  the  light-house  was  long  visible,  the  sea  was  calm. 

I  went  upon  deck  at  daylight.  The  African  coast,  with 
dark  blue  hills,  lay  before  us ;  on  the  right  was  the  Spanish 
coast,  and  its  most  southerly  point,  the  rock  of  Gibraltar: 
close  up  to  it  shone  white  houses,  quite  a  town,  which,  how- 
ever, did  not  lie  by  any  means  so  close  to  it  as  they  appeared 
to  do ;  this  was  the  Spanish  town  of  Algeciras,  on  the  western 
side  of  the  Bay  of  Gibraltar ;  we  saw  it  over  the  neck  of  land 
which  unites  the  rock  of  Gibraltar  to  the  main-land.  Gibral- 
tar must  doubtless  have  once  been  a  rock  out  in  the  sea,  but 
in  the  process  of  time  sand  has  drifted  in  between  the  rods 
and  the  land,  connecting  them,  and  causing  Gibraltar  to  be- 
come Europe's  most  southerly  point. 

Our  vessel  glided  along  the  flat  strip  of  land,  in  under  the 
mighty  rock ;  the  sea  has  made  deep  cavities  in  it ;  there 
were  plenty  of  screaming  sea-birds  about.  High  above,  tun- 
nels have  been  blasted,  and  strong  fortifications  erected ; 
eighty-pounders  stretch  forth  their  death-dealing  mouths  over 
the  sea.  Our  steamer  shot  through  the  water,  leaving  behind 
it  the  sailing  ships  that  were  trying  to  catch  the  wind ;  it 
swept  past  the  fortifications  on  the  part  of  the  rock  farthest 
south,  turned  to  the  north,  and  so  into  the  bay,  where  a  town 
built  in  terraces  met  our  eyes.  This,  however,  was  not  the 
fortified  town  of  Gibraltar,  but  the  suburbs  out  of  it,  which  is 
called  by  the  Spaniards  Europe,  and  by  the  English  South, 
that  is  to  say,  South  Gibraltar ;  then  came  terraces  with  villas 
and  gardens,  and  lastly,  behind  bastions  and  fortified  walls, 
the  town  itself,  amidst  cactus-grown  rocks. 

A  boat  came  out  to  the  steamboat;  all  the  papers  were 
taken  up  with  a  pair  of  iron  tongs,  looked  at,  and  returned 
by  the  hand.  We  then  obtained  permission  to  land,  and  at 
the  landing  place  were  told  that  we  might  remain  a  few  days. 
We  were  now  upon  English  ground. 

A  motley  crowd,  a  whole  pattern-book  of  nationalities, 
streamed  in  and  out  of  the  low  gate  of  the  fortifications,  be- 
fore which  stood  English  soldiers  with  scarlet  uniforms,  blue 
eyes,  and  fair  hair.  Outside  of  the  gate  were  markets  for 


I  24  IN  SPAIN. 

meat,  vegetables,  and  fruit ;  within  it  an  extensive  parade 
ground,  which  led  to  the  long,  principal  street  of  the  town ; 
there  mingled,  with  Bedouins  in  their  burnooses,  Morocco 
Jews  in  caftans,  slippers,  and  turbans,  sailors  from  all  parts 
of  the  world,  strangers  also,  some  of  whom  wore  long  green 
veils  attached  to  their  hats,  as  a  defense  against  the  overpow- 
ering rays  of  the  sun. 

Our  Danish  Consul,  Herr  Mathiasen,  had  bespoken  rooms 
for  us  at  the  "  King's  Arms  Hotel."  The  -valet  de  place,  who 
met  us  in  the  harbor,  was  aware  of  this,  and  we  were  soon 
established  in  good  English  comfort.  On  the  stairs  and  in 
the  rooms  one  saw  people  of  all  nations  and  speaking  all  lan- 
guages. At  table  acquaintances  were  quickly  made  ;  here 
were  a  few  lively  agreeable  English  naval  officers,  two  young 
Frenchmen,  a  German,  and  a  Russian,  and  some  Spaniards 
who  had  just  arrived  from  crocodile  hunting  on  the  Nile. 

While  we  were  still  at  table,  came  Consul  Mathiasen  and 
carried  us  with  him  to  his  hospitable  house.  Around  the 
rooms  there  was  much  that  reminded  one  of  Denmark. 
There  hung  a  large  picture,  a  Danish  beech-wood,  painted 
by  Skovgaard  ;  on  the  table  lay  Paludan-Miiller's  collected 
works.  Herr  Mathiasen  brought  us  the  last  numbers  of 
"  Dagbladet,"  which  had  come  via  England.  I  read  in  it 
what  piece  had  been  given  at  the  Theatre  Royal  in  Copenha- 
gen eight  days  before  ;  it  was  "  Far  away  from  Denmark."  I 
myself  was  far  away,  and  yet  near,  for  thought,  with  which 
God  has  endowed  us,  has  power  to  fly.  A  letter  had  been 
awaiting  me  a  whole  month  here  ;  it  was  from  the  English 
Minister  at  Tangier,  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay:  he  was  so 
kind  as  to  invite  me  and  my  travelling  companion  to  stay  at 
his  house,  if  we  should  visit  the  African  coast. 

The  steamer  only  went  once  a  week  from  Gibraltar  to  Tan- 
gier, and  we  had  still  a  few  days  before  us  ;  therefore  we 
were  enabled  to  write  to  announce  our  coming.  A  fisherman 
often  carried  letters  between  Gibraltar  and  Tangier,  and  by 
him  I  sent  a  letter,  accepting  the  invitation  we  had  received. 

Consul  Mathiasen  took  us  to  see  a  beautiful  view.  We 
drove  through  the  ponderous  fortifications,  and  narrow 
crooked  roads,  out  upon  the  flat  tongue  of  land  which  joins 


FROM  GRANADA     TO   GIBRALTAR.  125 

the  rock  of  Gibraltar  to  the  high  land  of  Spain.  Everything 
was  arid  and  dried  up ;  here  and  there  stood  an  agave  with 
its  thick  stunted  trunk,  the  dust  lay  upon  its  long  heavy 
leaves.  The  bay,  with  Algeciras,  stretched  itself  out  on  the 
left,  the  open  sea  was  on  our  right.  On  the  sandy  road  over 
which  we  were  driving,  there  was  an  encampment ;  the  Eng- 
lish garrison  here  take  it  by  turns  to  live  within  the  town,  and 
outside  in  the  tents,  to  accustom  them  to  camp  life. 

We  soon  reached  and  passed  over  a  (within  reach  of  gun) 
piece  of  desert  neutral  land,  and  then  came  to  the  first  little 
Spanish  village ;  it  was  inclosed  within  under  railings,  and 
Spanish  soldiers  stood  at  the  gate. 

We  turned  round,  and  before  us,  starting  up,  as  it  were,  from 
the  sandy  plain  and  the  sea,  arose  the  mighty,  perpendicular 
wall  of  rock ;  we  distinctly  saw  the  embrasures  in  the  galleries, 
which  are  widely  extended  throughout  it.  They  were  practic- 
ing sharpshooting  on  the  sandy  isthmus,  therefore  we  were 
obliged  to  confine  ourselves  to  the  road  by  which  we  had 
come,  and,  unwillingly,  to  return  by  it.  Through  the  fortifi- 
cations, and  over  the  walls,  we  reached  the  southern  part  of 
the  town,  near  the  Alameda ;  here  we  came  to  a  charming 
spot,  covered  with  gardens.  Soon  South  Gibraltar  lay  between 
us  ;  we  drove  past  pleasant  looking  country-houses  with  white 
walls  and  green  jalousies  ;  in  the  garden  were  growing  splendid 
trees,  with  large  sunny  fruits,  and  carnation-tinted  flowers ; 
there  was  quite  a  wilderness  of  foliage  and  bright  creeping 
plants.  At  one  villa,  which  belonged  to  our  consul's  mother- 
in-law,  an  Irish  lady,  we  enjoyed  a  charming  view,  extending 
from  the  Bay  of  Algeciras  to  the  town  and  hills,  and  over  to 
Tarifa,  and  to  the  African  coast.  The  view  now  became  much 
grander,  as  from  the  southern  part  of  the  rock  our  carriage- 
road  led  to  the  northeast,  and  there  suddenly  stopped.  We 
had  to  proceed  on  foot  up  the  parched  rocks,  upon  which  the 
sun  and  the  sun-fogs  had  exercised  their  influence.  Passing  sol- 
diers and  cannons  we  reached  the  lofty  solitude  ;  wild  cucum- 
bers grew  here  amidst  masses  of  stone  ;  immediately  beneath  us 
we  saw  the  dark-blue,  almost  ink-black  water  with  its  foaming 
white-cresied  waves ;  a  fisherman  in  his  boat  lay  down  there, 
while  sea-birds  flew  over  him  into  the  deep  caverns  of  the  rock. 


126  IN  SPAIN. 

Many  vessels  had  sought  shelter  here,  and  were  awaiting  a 
favorable  wind  to  pass  through  the  straits  out  into  the  Atlan- 
tic Ocean.  The  view  here  was  a  very  comprehensive  one,  ex- 
tending from  the  dark  blue  hills  in  the  north,  up  from  the  Bay 
of  Malaga,  along  the  whole  coast,  over  the  vast  Mediterranean  ; 
to  the  south  arose  the  high  lands  of  Africa  —  it  was  only  six 
Danish  miles  hence  to  Ceuta,  a  Spanish  town  on  the  coast  of 
Africa,  which  was  distinctly  to  be  seen  in  the  clear,  transparent 
air  :  the  very  separate  houses  were  visible,  and  the  outlines  of 
the  hills  were  perfectly  defined,  one  mountain  rising  behind 
another. 

Consul  Mathiasen  obtained  the  governor's  permission  for  us 
to  see  the  immense  fortifications,  and  we  visited  them  in  com- 
pany with  him.  Through  a  small  overcrowded  square,  where 
many  of  the  garrison  and  their  families  resided,  we  passed, 
guided  by  two  soldiers,  and  were  conducted  into  prison-like 
vaults,  the  doors  of  which  were  locked  and  bolted  behind  us  ; 
sometimes  we  were  in  gloom  and  darkness,  then  suddenly  we 
entered  open  passages,  with  the  clear  air  above  us,  and  the 
rock  itself,  with  its  loop-holes,  forming  the  walls.  It  was  a 
very  fatiguing  walk  up  to  the  flag-house  at  the  top  of  the  hill ; 
the  way  down  from  this  leads  past  an  enormous  cavern  in  the 
rock,  and  whose  singularly-formed  stalactites  and  unfathomable 
depth  awaken  great  interest.  It  is  a  popular  idea  that  this  cav- 
ern extends  across  under  the  Straits,  and  has  its  outlet  on  the 
African  coast.  Apes,  it  is  said,  have,  through  this  submarine 
tunnel,  found  their  way  over  here.  Many  skeletons  of  these 
animals  have  been  discovered  in  this  cave  :  the  apes  bury  their 
own  dead. 

When  Collin  was  here,  the  governor  happened  to  visit  the 
place  with  a  number  of  strangers  ;  blue  lights  were  burned  in 
the  cave,  the  extraordinary  formation  of  which  and  the  stalac- 
tites assumed,  in  the  glare,  quite  a  magic  appearance.  A  relic 
from  the  time  of  the  Moors  is  still  to  be  seen  on  the  northwest, 
a  sort  of  fort ;  it  is  now,  so  to  speak,  incorporated  with  the 
new  walls  and  fortifications,  which  extend  from  the  top  to  the 
bottom  of  the  rock.  At  Gibraltar,  one  is  under  lock  and  key 
at  times ;  at  sunset  the  signal  gun  is  fired,  the  gates  of  the 
fortress  are  locked  and  all  communication  with  the  outside 


FROM  GRANADA    TO   GIBRALTAR.  12  J 

world  is  broken  off,  until  at  sunrise  another  gun  then  thun- 
ders the  order  that  the  gates  may  be  opened.  If  one  does  not 
think  of  it,  one  experiences  no  feeling  of  imprisonment.  The 
long,  gas-lighted  street  is  thronged  with  people  of  all  nations, 
Turks,  Arabs,  English,  and  French ;  military  music  is  played, 
the  theatre  is  open :  here  at  that  time  there  was  an  opera 
being  given  ;  one  of  the  newest,  "  Moreto  "  —  the  music  was 
by  a  Spaniard  —  was  very  successful. 

For  half  a  day  we  had  dismal,  rainy  weather ;  it  reminded 
us  of  a  northern  autumn,  but  was  not  usual  here :  the  whole 
of  the  winter  season  at  Gibraltar  consists  of  a  few  such  blowy, 
dingy,  wet  days.  By  Christmas,  spring  has  come  again,  and 
budding  leaves  and  early  flowers  are  seen. 

We  had  delightful,  warm,  sunshiny  weather  the  next  day, 
although  it  was  the  first  of  November.  Collin  had  gone 
scrambling  among  the  rocks  to  gather  snails  and  other  insects 
for  his  collection.  I  preferred  wandering  about  with  a  young 
lively  Frenchman :  we  went  out  toward  the  Alameda,  and 
came  first  to  the  church-yard,  which  lies  immediately  outside 
the  southern  gate  of  the  town,  close  to  the  walls.  Fig-trees 
spread  their  shade  over  the  graves,  dark  cypresses  and  flower- 
ing plants  offer  a  charming  variety ;  here  grew  high  hedges, 
with  large  bell-formed  blossoms  that  somewhat  resemble  white 
calla  ;  they  flourish  in  all  the  gardens  about  here,  and  are  worn 
by  ladies  at  balls.  It  is  only  for  the  first  hour  or  two  that 
they  retain  their  original  hue ;  in  the  course  of  the  night  they 
become  lilac,  and  at  early  morning  turn  red.  We  were  soon 
on  the  Alameda,  which,,  with  rows  of  trees,  bushes,  and 
flowers,  is  very  inviting ;  here  one  gets  the  fresh  sea-breeze ; 
from  hence  one  looks  over  the  bay,  filled  with  ships  and 
boats,  to  Algeciras,  and  the  bare  stony  hills  which  characterize 
the  southern  extremity  of  Europe. 

We  met  a  number  of  promenaders,  especially  ladies  and 
children.  The  most  of  them  had  light  hair  and  fair  complex- 
ions, and  seemed  to  be  English.  My  young  Frenchman,  a 
susceptible,  excitable  youth,  was  quite  charmed  at  the  sight  of 
one  of  these  blonde  beauties,  although  he  had  declared  that 
his  heart  could  only  beat  for  the  dark-haired  Spaniards.  One 
might  have  thought,  from  his  conversation,  that  he  was  irre- 


128  IN  SPAIN. 

sistible,  like  the  beauties  about  whom  he  raved.  He  was 
young,  frank,  and  very  communicative ;  also  so  extremely 
amiable  and  good-natured,  that  his  old  aunt,  who,  as  he  said, 
always  spoiled  him,  might  have  been  excused  for  calling  his 
very  weaknesses  chivalric.  He  pretended  to  know  a  great 
deal  about  "  Spanish  girls,"  but  I  did  not  believe  half  he  said. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  south  are  so  lively,  so  almost  child- 
ish, and  so  uncalculating,  that  many  strangers  judge  the 
women  in  these  countries  wrongly.  One  should  not  believe 
all  that  people  of  vivid  imagination  assert,  one  should  not  be- 
lieve all  that  is  written  and  printed. 

They  say  that  a  woman  in  Spain 

Is  of  bold  and  masculine  mind  ; 
They  say  that  a  dirk  in  her  belt, 

There  carried  for  use,  you  will  find. 
They  say  so  much  more  than  they  should  — 

The  chattering  tourist  trust  not ; 
For  a  light  and  childish  heart 

The  young  Spanish  female  has  got 
If  you  raise  a  finger  at  her 

When  laughing,  and  merry,  and  gay  — 
The  bright  daughter  of  Spain  may  then 

A  dirk  that  was  hidden  display. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A   VISIT    TO   AFRICA. 

AT  an  early  hour,  on  the  2d  of  November,  the  steamer 
left  Gibraltar  for  Tangier.  Collin  and  I  had  gone  on 
board,  when  we  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  once  more  our 
kind  friend  the  Consul  Mathiasen.  He  brought  us  a  farewell 
message  from  his  wife,  and  tidings  of  a  little  unknown  stran- 
ger, his  youngest  son,  who  was  born  at  a  still  earlier  hour  that 
morning  —  a  new  inhabitant  of  the  rock  of  Gibraltar. 

The  crew  on  board  consisted  principally  of  Moors  ;  our 
valet  de  place  introduced  us  to  one  of  them,  the  second  mate. 
The  steamer  was  very  small,  and  rocked  much  on  the  rough 
sea.  We  steered  across  over  the  bay  toward  Algeciras,  and 
kept  near  the  Spanish  coast,  which  was  bare  and  rocky,  until 
we  got  under  Tarifa.  Heavy  dark  masses  of  stone  arose  from 
the  sea,  and  the  waves  dashed  over  them.  The  whole  of  the 
southern  point  of  Europe  is  a  wild  mountain  land,  an  arid 
desert  The  town  of  Tarifa  is  sheltered  behind  dark  naked 
blocks  of  rock  ;  only  an  old  gray-looking  light-house  stands 
forward,  surrounded  by  screaming  sea-birds.  Africa,  to  which 
we  bent  our  course  from  Tarifa,  in  the  direction  of  Tangier, 
lay  smiling  and  fruitful  before  us.  Behind  Ceuta  the  country 
was  high,  and  rose  into  grandeur  in  three  ranges  of  hills,  the 
one  behind  and  higher  than  the  other ;  but  as  the  line  of 
coast  stretched  itself  toward  Tangier,  out  of  the  straits,  toward 
the  Atlantic  Ocean,  it  became  lower  and  lower,  with  green 
heights,  not  unlike-  those  on  the  northern  coast  of  Zealand. 
With  white  walls,  flat-roofed  houses,  and  above  them  a  chalky- 
white  fortress,  Tangier  loomed  forth.  Behind  the  town  is  to 
be  seen  a  small  specimen  of  the  yellow  sand  of  the  desert,  and 
over  it  were  passing  a  train  of  heavily  laden  camels.  There 
is  no  harbor  here  —  no  shelter  against  the  boisterous  sea; 
9 


130 


IN  SPAIN. 


even  the  long  solid  mole  had  been  destroyed  by  the  Europeans 
before  they  gave  up  their  possession  of  Tangier.  The  steamer 
stopped  pretty  far  out,  and  cast  anchor;  and  two  or  three 
boats  with  half-naked,  sunburnt  Moors  came  running  out  to 
us ;  screaming  and  making  signs,  they  ascended  the  side  of 
the  steamer.  I  thought  that  one  of  them  might  have  been 
sent  by  Sir  J.  Drummond  Hay  to  take  us  ashore,  but  was 
disappointed  in  this. 

The  mate  secured  one  of  the  boats  for  us,  and,  without  a 
moment's  delay,  we  and  our  luggage  were  hurried  down  to  it, 
and  rowed  with  all  haste  to  the  shore.  The  waves  dashed 
over  the  half-demolished  landing-place  ;  the  billows  rolled  up 
in  lofty  masses,  exhausting  and  scattering  themselves  upon 
the  sand.  About  half  a  dozen  Morocco  Jews,  clad  in  their 
caftans,  threw  themselves  into  the  water,  and  waded  out  to 
us.  One  seized  a  portmanteau,  another  a  carpet-bag,  a  third 
carried  off  our  umbrellas  ;  it  was  like  a  regular  work  of  plun- 
der ;  they  would  listen  neither  to  reasonable  expostulations 
nor  to  angry  shouts.  Without  my  having  the  least  idea  of 
what  was  going  to  happen,  I  felt  myself  seized  by  one  leg, 
another  took  my  other  leg,  a  third  placed  me  upon  his  head, 
and,  borne  aloft  in  this  fashion,  Collin,  myself,  and  an  English 
fellow-traveller,  were  carried  to  dry  land,  between  fishermen's 
boats  drawn  up  on  the  beach,  and  Moors  reclining  half  asleep. 
Some  of  them  turned  and  looked  at  us,  but  retained  their  in- 
cumbent position ;  others  raised  themselves ;  but  a  whole 
troop  of  naked,  screeching  boys  followed  us  to  the  outer  gate 
of  the  town.  We  stood  there  as  if  we  had  been  transported 
to  Damascus,  or  to  one  of  the  cities  mentioned  in  the  "  Ara- 
bian Nights'  Entertainments." 

Here,  in  an  open  hall,  sat,  with  turbans  and  long  beards, 
people  that  looked  like  the  Seven  Wise  Men  of  the  East ;  there 
were,  however,  only  six  of  them,  and  of  their  wisdom  I  cannot 
speak,  for  I  did  not  understand  their  language.  We  were  at 
the  Custom-house,  and  all  our  baggage  was  to  be  opened.  I 
can  speak  neither  Arabic  nor  the  language  of  Morocco,  there- 
fore I  only  said  three  magic  words,  —  "  the  English  Ambas- 
sador !  "  —  and  these  were  qugte  enough.  We  were  extremely 
well  treated,  and  very  soon  permitted  to  depart,  which  we  did, 


A    VISIT   TO   AFRICA.  131 

guided,  or  rather  accompanied,  by  a  score  of  half-naked  bar- 
barians. Were  we  not  on  the  coast  of  the  barbarians,  in  the 
country  from  which,  in  olden  times,  pirates  went  forth,  as  they 
did  from  Tunis,  Algiers,  and  Tripoli,  for  the  purposes  of 
rapine  and  murder  ?  Our  guides  gabbled  and  shouted,  each 
endeavoring  to  seize  some  article  of  our  luggage ;  they  all 
wished,  as  had  done  the  Jews  who  had  carried  us  ashore,  to 
earn  some  reward.  We  passed  through  a  gate  of  the  town, 
narrower  than  the  one  which  led  to  the  harbor,  and  walked 
on  among  white  walls,  glaring  in  the  sun,  and  houses  with  low 
doors,  and  holes  in  the  walls  for  windows.  The  women  whom 
we  met  were  enveloped  in  loose  sack-like  dresses,  and  glided 
like  shadows  past  us.  Some  mules  and  well-laden  camels 
almost  barred  the  street  against  us,  for  it  was  hardly  possible 
to  pass  between  them  and  the  houses  and  the  mosque.  The 
gate  of  the  mosque  was  open  ;  we  ventured  to  glance  in,  but 
did  not  dare  to  stop  ;  it  was  too  holy  a  place  for  Christian 
eyes  to  peer  into. 

A  young  Moor  showed  us  the  way  to  the  residence  of  the 
English  minister,  but  the  whole  family  were  in  the  country,  at 
their  villa  "  Ravensrock,"  which  lies  out  toward  the  Atlantic 
Ocean,  about  a  Danish  mile  from  Tangier.  We  found,  how- 
ever, the  secretary  to  the  English  legation,  Mr.  Green ;  he 
knew  that  we  were  expected,  but  assured  me  that  no  letter 
from  me  had  been  received.  The  fisherman  who  ought  to 
have  delivered  it,  we  heard  afterward,  went  first  from  Gibral- 
tar to  Tarifa,  and  it  was  not  until  three  days  after  our  arrival 
at  Sir  J.  Drummond  Hay's  that  he  brought  the  letter  announc- 
ing our  coming. 

Horses  and  mules  were  soon  got  ready  for  us  and  our  lug- 
gage ;  there  was  no  use  to  think  of  driving,  for  there  were  no 
carriages ;  and,  besides,  the  streets  of  Tangier  resemble  very 
much  the  dried-up  bed  of  a  river,  they  are  so  uneven,  one  would 
have  to  drive  over  stones,  pieces  of  broken  wall,  and  all  sorts 
of  sweepings.  Almost  all  the  houses  had  a  number  of  doors 
and  windows,  which  serve  at  the  same  time  for  counters  and 
workshops ;  at  these  sat,  in  the  Eastern  fashion,  the  artisans 
and  shopmen,  mostly  Morocco  Jews.  Even  in  the  street  we 
saw  a  number  of  Arabs  in  white  burnooses ;  the  water-carriers 


132 


IN  SPAIN. 


went  about  in  little  more  than  their  shirts ;  they  had  a  very 
wild  appearance,  and  wore  brass  ornaments  in  their  coal 
black  hair.  They  came  from  several  hundred  miles  up  the 
country  to  Tangier,  to  gain  a  humble  livelihood  by  selling 
water ;  they  carry  this  on  their  shoulders  in  large  goat-skin 
bags,  with  the  hairy  part  outside.  The  water  oozes  through 
the  skins,  so  that  they  are  always  damp  ;  the  drops  run  down 
over  the  dark-brown  legs  of  the  carriers.  Half-naked  sun- 
burnt boys  were  either  pressing  forward  round  us,  or  lying 
down  outside  of  the  doors  of  the  houses  playing  with  sticks : 
Moorish  females  flitted  past,  without  seeming  to  notice  any  one 
or  anything ;  equipped  in  their  wide  linen  wrappers  they  looked 
like  walking  millers'  sacks.  The  western  gate  of  the  town, 
which  leads  to  the  country,  is  low  and  narrow ;  the  lane  out- 
side of  it  was  filled  with  people  and  animals ;  it  was  market 
day.  Immediately  outside  of  the  walls  of  the  fort,  we  had  to 
make  our  way  through  an  entire  camp  of  Bedouins  and  Arabs, 
who,  with  their  camels,  were  lying  down  in  the  deep  sand. 
Two  young  Moorish  lads  led  our  mules,  and  Mr.  Green  accom- 
panied us.  We  rode  over  the  picturesque  heath,  which  was 
thickly  covered  with  gigantic  cacti.  We  passed  a  couple  of 
deserted  villas  ;  the  orange-trees  in  their  grounds  had  grown 
quite  into  thickets  ;  we  rode  on  amidst  woody  slopes,  covered 
with  laurel-hedges,  and  shrubberies  of  dwarf  palms.  Our 
path,  if  it  could  be  called  a  path,  resembled  sometimes  the 
stony  streets  of  Tangier,  sometimes  a  small  track  through  a 
wild  heath ;  it  led  amidst  the  inclosures  of  an  Arab's  country 
dwelling  and  his  family  burying-ground,  with  its  graves.  Now 
we  were  in  a  plantation  of  Spanish  reeds,  now  out  again  in  the 
open  heath.  Far  below  us  rolled  the  sea ;  behind  us  we  saw, 
over  the  dark -green  wood,  the  town  of  Tangier,  and  the  whole 
coast  where  the  white-crested  waves  came  rushing  on  the  beach. 
Mr.  Green  told  us  that,  about  nine  years  before,  a  lion  had 
roamed  around  this  place  ;  Sir  J.  Drummond  Hay,  with  a  num- 
ber of  the  natives,  hunted  it  in  vain ;  at  length,  in  the  wood 
here,  crouching  behind  a  large  stone,  the  eyes  of  one  of  the 
Moors  lighted  upon  it ;  he  turned  as  white  as  death  and  stood 
as  still  as  a  statue,  so  great  was  his  terror.  There  were  plenty 
of  wild  animals  in  the  vicinity  of  this  p'ace  ;  Mr.  Green  said  that 


A    VISIT   TO  AFRICA.  133 

we  might  probably  see  wild  boars  and  porcupines,  and  hear 
at  night  the  cries  of  the  jackals,  who  frequently  enter  the 
garden  of  the  country-house  to  which  we  were  going.  We 
reached  this  house  after  about  an  hour's  ride.  Large  as  a 
palace,  shining  white,  "  Ravensrock "  presented  itself  to  us, 
encircled  by  trees  and  standing  high  over  the  sea.  Dwellings 
for  the  various  servants,  washing-houses,  stables,  etc.,  lay,  with 
white  flat  roofs,  amidst  gardens  which  had  been  extracted  from 
the  adjacent  heath.  Here  was  quite  a  thicket  of  myrtles  in 
oioom,  high  bushes  bearing  a  fruit  like  strawberries,  dwarf 
palms,  and  wild  orange-trees,  many  of  which  had  been  allowed 
to  remain  when  the  gardens  were  laid  out.  The  entire  estab- 
lishment of  servants,  even  the  women,  consisted  of  Moors ; 
Hussein,  the  head  servant,  a  handsome  young  man,  in  a  stately 
turban  and  white  burnoose  with  dark  stripes,  —  any  lady  in 
our  European  towns  might  have  worn  it,  —  came  with  two 
younger  Moors,  Hamed  and  Boomgrais,  in  white  plush  small- 
clothes and  red  fezes ;  they  helped  us  to  dismount  from  our 
mules,  and  took  them  to  the  stables.  Sir  John  Drummond 
Hay,  a  man  with  an  intelligent,  pleasant  countenance,  received 
us  so  kindly  and  cordially  that  we  soon  felt  we  were  welcome. 
Lady  Drummond  Hay  and  both  of  her  young  daughters  spoke 
to  us  in  Danish.'  It  was  pleasant  to  hear  our  dear  native 
language,  here  on  the  African  coast,  amidst  lovely  scenery  and 
close  to  the  vast  Atlantic  Ocean. 

From  the  room  which  was  assigned  to  me  there  was  a  most 
beautiful  view :  to  the  right,  over  the  sea  and  the  green  woody 
coast,  were  to  be  seen,  behind  Tangier,  high  blue  hills,  then 
Ceuta,  and  beyond  it,  the  open  straits  toward  the  Mediterra- 
nean Sea,  where  sailing  ships  and  steamers  were  coming  and 
going.  Before  us  lay  the  Spanish  coast,  all  the  way  from  the 
rock  of  Gibraltar,  in  its  wildness,  to  Tarifa,  to  the  Bay  of  Tra- 
falgar, and  the  hills  near  Cadiz.  The  Atlantic  Ocean  stretched 
itself,  in  its  immensity,  toward  the  west. 

It  was  charming  here  in  the  evening.  The  light-house  at 
Tarifa  seemed  quite  near ;  sometimes  we  could  even  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  blaze  at  the  distant  beacon  at  Trafalgar.  The 
full  moon,  which  seemed  to  be  sailing  in  the  vaulted  space 
above,  was  shining  on  the  vast,  ever-rolling  sea;  the  air 


134 


IN  SPAIN. 


was  pure  and  transparent ;  and  even  those  stars  that  were  to 
be  seen  did  not  appear  to  be  stationary  in  the  blue  heavens 
above,  but  to  be  moving  in  the  expanse  on  high. 

All  was  novelty  and  beauty  in  the  scenery  and  vegetation 
around  ;  whilst  in  the  interior  of  the  house,  we  found  every 
English  comfort  amongst  the  most  amiable  and  kindest  of 
friends,  whose  thoughts  seemed  devoted  to  making  our  stay 
with  them  pleasant  and  happy  in  all  respects.  Delightful, 
never-to-be-forgotten  days  did  I  pass  here,  forming  a  new  and 
rich  leaf  in  the  story  of  my  life. 

IN  AFRICA. 

I  stand  upon  Morocco's  soil, 

And  Europe  is  the  North  for  me  — 
Is  this  not  something  strange  to  tell  ? 

Trafalgar's  light-house  here  I  see ! 
The  billows  of  the  ocean  bring 

Sounds  from  the  distant  Danish  strand* 
Even  in  Africa  I  seem 

To  be  still  near  my  father-land ; 
All  that  I  love  there  still  I  see  — 

The  voice  of  friends  I  think  I  hear  ; 
And  if  it  snow,  there  still  descend 

The  almond  blossoms  —  Christmas  cheer* 
Eldest  kingdom  of  the  North  — 

Denmark  !  once  so  strong,  but  now 
So  small  in  limits  !  still  how  great 

In  the  mind's  empire  art  not  thou  1 
In  the  whispering  of  the  waves 

I  hear  tones  from  the  Danish  strand  ; 
The  throbbings  of  my  heart,  dost  thou 

Hear  in  return,  my  father -land  ? 

It  was  like  being  at  home  here,  and  I  heard  my  mother- 
tongue.  Lady  Drummond  Hay,  who  was  of  a  calm,  noble, 
feminine  nature,  was  the  daughter  of  the  late  Danish  Consul- 
General,  Carstensen,  at  Tangier.  Of  relations  and  friends  in 
dear  Denmark  there  was  much  to  say ;  I  had  also  the  pleas- 
ure of  hearing  Danish  airs  played  on  the  piano-forte.  There 
were  two  young  pretty  daughters,  Louisa  and  Alice ;  one  was 
born  in  Copenhagen,  the  other  at  Tangier :  they  had  read  my 
tales  in  the  English  translations,  and  the  French  edition  from 


A    VISIT   TO  AFRICA. 


135 


Geneva  of  the  volume  in  which  is  "  The  Marsh -king's  Daugh- 
ter," the  scene  of  which  is  laid  partly  in  Denmark,  partly  in 
Africa,  had  a  place  in  their  book-case.  I  wrote  in  their  copy 
of  the  book,  — 

From  Denmark's  shore  these  bouquets  came, 
With  Danish  memories  fraught  they  are  ; 

Two  dear  young  friends,  say,  may  I  claim 
On  Africa's  bright  coast  afar  ? 

We  passed  from  the  garden  into  the  wildflower-decked  cam- 
'pagna  ;  there  we  saw,  amidst  the  luxuriantly-blooming  heather, 
the  greatest  variety  of  plants,  specimens  that  would  be  valua- 
ble in  the  choicest  hot-houses  in  Europe.  The  dwarf  palms 
spread  their  green  fans  in  thick  masses,  as  the  ferns  do  with 
us.  Myrtles  and  laurels  formed  a  thick  grove.  Out  here,  in 
the  middle  of  the  day,  a  meteor  had  shone  in  the  heavens,  and 
had  fallen  amidst  the  adjacent  lofty  rocks,  which  towered  over 
the  woods  and  wilds  ;  there  was  no  trace  of  the  meteor  to  be 
discovered,  but  a  magnificent  view  presented  itself  over  the 
whole  campagna,  far  away  into  the  country  toward  the  south- 
east ;  and  the  snow-capped  Atlas  Mountains  rose  high  on  the 
horizon  like  an  Alpine  range.  Above  flew,  in  flocks,  large 
screeching  ravens  ;  the  number  of  these  birds  that  are  found 
here  has  given  the  name  "  Ravensrock  "  to  the  place. 

The  Moors  tell  a  story  about  the  ravens :  I  heard  it  from 
Sir  John  Drummond  Hay,  who  enjoined  me  to  make  a  little 
tale  of  it. 

The  Moors  think  that  the  ravens,  when  first  they  come  out 
of  the  eggs,  are  white  ;  and  they  relate,  in  a  comical  manner, 
how  horrified  the  paternal  raven  was  when  the  young  one 
crept  out,  and  he  perceived  that  it  was  white.  "What  is 
this  ?  "  cried  the  little  raven's  father,  inspecting  narrowly  his 
own  black  plumage  ;  not  a  white  feather  was  to  be  seen, 
and  yet  the  young  one  was  white!  He  then  looked  at  the 
mother,  but  not  a  white  feather  was  visible  about  her  either ; 
so  he  requested  an  explanation  from  her.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand it,"  she  said,  "  but  in  a  little  time  doubtless  the  right 
ones  will  come  forth  !  "  —  "I  will  fly  away  from  here,"  he  cried, 
"  away  —  away  —  away  !  "  and  he  did  fly  away.  The  mother 
remained  with  the  little  one.  The  father  was  as  angry  as  he 


136  IN  SPAIN. 

could  be,  but  after  he  had  flown  about  for  some  time,  he  be- 
gan to  think :  "  Perhaps  I  have  not  seen  aright ;  I  will  go 
back  and  look  again  !  "  and  he  went  back  ;  he  found  that  the 
little  white  one  had  become  gray.  "  So  then  it  is  not  white  ?  " 
he  exclaimed,  "  but  still  it  cannot  be  called  black  ;  neither  its 
mother  nor  I  are  of  this  color."  And  he  flew  away  again. 
But  once  more  he  returned,  and  then  the  young  one  had 
turned  black.  "  Only  give  time,  and  the  right  will  appear  ;  " 
this  is  the  moral,  and  the  father  stuck  to  it  afterward.  Such 
is  the  story  of  the  ravens. 

Here  in  this  neighborhood,  under  pines,  and  orange-trees 
heavily  laden  with  fruit,  one  of  the  rich  Jews  of  Tangier  had 
built  a  country-seat.  It  and  a  few  Moorish  huts  were  the  only 
habitations  near.  A  narrow  footpath,  seldom  used,  wound 
through  the  wood  down  to  the  sea  ;  it  was  upon  this  path,  that 
some  years  ago  the  lion  so  much  spoken  of  had  been  first 
seen.  The  lion  started  into  my  thoughts  when  I  suddenly 
one  day  encountered  here  a  large  yellow  animal.  I  will  not 
conceal  that,  for  a  moment,  I  felt  a  sensation  of  fear :  it  was 
only,  however,  a  large  dog  ;  but  these  dogs  are  by  no  means 
always  harmless.  A  similar  large  unowned  animal  had,  but  a 
short  time  before,  down  at  Tangier,  eaten  a  little  living  Jewish 
child.  I  met  neither  ichneumon  nor  wild  boar,  although  one 
of  the  latter  had  lately  broken  into  the  garden.  A  porcupine 
crossed  the  path  I  was  traversing,  and  on  my  way  home,  I 
found  one  of  its  quills,  which  I  have  converted  into  a  pen- 
holder. 

There  was  something  very  enticing  in  wandering  further 
and  further  on  in  an  uninhabited  place,  something  very  exhil- 
arating in  the  uncertainty  of  where  you  are  going,  and  what 
you  may  encounter.  Everything  around  was  so  new,  so 
strange  :  and  the  hollow  murmur  of  the  sea  was  always  break- 
ing on  the  ear :  the  whole  shore  lay  before  me,  studded  with 
stones  which  had  been  flattened  by  the  action  of  the  waves, 
with  mussel-shells,  and  conchs.  What  deep  solitude  here  ! 
And  yet  how  teeming  with  life  !  —  the  ocean's  life  and  mo- 
tion !  One  seems  like  a  little  insect  imbued  with  thought, 
amidst  this  grandeur  of  nature. 


A     VISIT  TO  AFRICA.  137 

Hearest  thou  the  ocean's  murmuring  tones. 
In  Nature's  untaught  music  rich  ? 
In  every  conch  that  music  swells, 
Therein  it  never  dies  away. 
Bright  shell  !  that  in  the  deep  sands  lay, 
Where  the  poor  sunken  wreck  now  dwells 
Amidst  the  coral  graves,  o'er  which, 
While  rolling  on,  the  wild  wave  moans. 
How  many,  coffinless,  lie  there  — 
Their  winding  sheets,  the  ocean's  foam  ? 
Thou  art  thyself —  shell  of  the  deep  ! 
A  dead-house  where  no  creature  lives  ; 
Yet  life  to  thee  a  spirit  gives. 
Thy  lyre,  which  unseen  fingers  sweep, 
Could  tell  the  secrets  of  thy  home ; 
Would  that  these  secrets  I  might  share  ! 

Near  the  sea,  in  the  campagna,  and  on  the  high  balcony  of 
the  villa,  there  was  matter  to  inspire  poetical  thoughts.  What 
might  not  a  cigar  reveal  ?  The  air  was  warm,  and  yet  it  was 
light.  A  number  of  fishing  boats  lay  like  a  flock  of  swans  in 
Trafalgar  Bay,  awaiting  a  breeze ;  there  was  not  a  cloud  to  be 
seen,  except  that  which  arose  from  the  curling  smoke  of  the 
cigar.  What  the  cigar  could  tell,  I  also  can  :  — 

In  Cuba  stood  black  girls,  cutting  tobacco  plants ;  their 
eyes  glittered  like  stars,  but  the  eyes  of  the  youngest  among 
them  glittered  more  than  the  rest.  She  was  a  king's  daugh- 
ter from  hot  Africa,  now  a  slave  in  a  large  West  India  island. 

There  fell  a  tear  on  the  leaf  she  had  just  cut  from  the  to- 
bacco plant ;  there  is  a  soul  in  a  tear  ;  a  soul  can  never  die, 
and  this  contained  the  memories  of  her  childhood,  longing, 
and  regret.  The  leaf  was  rolled  up,  —  the  brown  mummy 
was  called  a  good  cigar. 

It  was  the  very  one  I  had  just  lighted,  here,  on  the  coast  of 
Africa;  it  steamed,  the  smoke,  undulating,  extended  itself;  it 
became  a  little  cloud-land,  a  dream-world.  What  lay  in  it? 
A  soul,  a  tear  from  Africa's  daughter. 

It  freed  itself,  it  raised  itself  in  its  father-land,  and  flew  over 
the  Atlas  Mountains  to  the  unknown  inner  region.  The  soul 
in  the  tear  was  at  liberty  in  thought's  homeland ! 

We  had  also  an  opportunity  of  seeing  life  in  Tangiei  ;  Sir 
J.  Drummond  Hay  with  his  family  removed  thither.  First 


138  IN  SPAIN. 

were  sent  off  large  caravans,  drawn  by  mules,  conveying  all 
sorts  of  goods  —  luggage,  and  kitchen  utensils.  At  a  later 
hour  in  the  afternoon,  our  excellent  host  and  all  of  us  left  the 
romantic  "  Ravensrock."  It  was  the  first  summer  the  family 
had  resided  there  ;  formerly  they  had  spent  that  time  at  an 
old  Moorish  villa  near  Tangier.  We  passed  close  to  it.  The 
garden  was  remarkable  for  its  abundance  of  orange-trees  and 
roses,  which  were  now  left  to  take  care  of  themselves  ;  the 
kind  fostering  hands  which  hitherto  tended  them  were  now 
absent.  We  again  rode  over  the  path  by  which  we  had  come, 
rode  amidst  the  hi§h  bamboo  reeds,  and  passed  the  Moorish 
country-house,  with  its  little  burial-ground,  and  afterwards  up 
among  the  laurel-hedges  and  palm  thicket.  The  ground  be- 
came more  and  more  uneven ;  the  rest  of  the  party  rode  on 
before  me,  and  were  soon  out  of  sight.  When  left  to  myself  I 
could  not  find  out  either  road  or  path,  so  I  was  obliged  to 
leave  that  to  my  mule ;  but  as  it  was  necessary  that  he  should 
go  a  little  faster,  I  beat  him  with  a  laurel-twig,  and  he  set  off 
at  a  smart  pace.  I  am  not  much  of  a  rider,  yet  I  managed  to 
keep  my  seat ;  the  animal  soon  found  out,  however,  that  I 
was  not  his  master,  and  he  seemed  well  pleased  thereat.  The 
sun  set,  it  suddenly  became  evening,  pitch  darkness  brooded 
over  the  deep  valley,  some  torches  were  lighted  on  the  side  of 
the  hill,  and  the  moon  gleamed  upon  the  wide-spread  soli- 
tude. 

On  the  outside  of  Tangier,  close  to  it,  near  the  cactus- 
covered  slopes,  lay  in  the  sand  a  large'  caravan  of  camels : 
one  only  raised  its  head  high  in  the  air,  stretching  out  its  long 
neck  ;  the  others  seemed  asleep.  A  fire  was  burning,  with 
thick  smoke  proceeding  from  it,  in  the  moat.  We  rode 
through  the  low  narrow  gate,  where  some  Arabs,  bare-legged 
and  in  burnooses,  met  us,  and  ran  with  lights  through  the 
confined,  break-neck  lanes  ;  over  stones  and  rubbish  we  rode, 
until  we  reached  the  small  street  in  which  the  foreign  consuls 
reside :  here  are  represented  the  French,  Spanish,  and  English 
governments.  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay  takes  precedence 
among  them  as  the  English  resident  minister  at  the  empire  of 
Morocco.  At  sunset  the  flags  are  all  taken  down ;  at  day- 
light there  waved  above  his  house  two  flags,  those  of  Eng'and 


••    VISIT  7V  AFRICA.  139 

and  Denmark,  as  Sir  J.  Drummond  Hay,  from  the  period  of 
his  father's  death,  had  been  the  Danish  Consul-General. 

We  were  here  in  an  old  building,  with  balconies  hanging 
over  the  garden,  flat  roofs,  and  surrounded  by  thick  walls  ; 
the  gate  was  well  locked  and  secured.  Within  all  was  so 
pleasantly  and  so  well  arranged.  The  stairs  and  the  corridors 
were  adorned  with  the  skins  of  lions,  panthers,  and  tigers  ; 
collections  of  Moorish  vases,  spears,  sabres,  and  other  wea- 
pons :  there  hung  rich  saddles  and  horse-trappings,  for  the 
most  part  presents  which  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay  had  re- 
ceived on  his  visit  to  the  Emperor  of  Morocco.1 

In  the  usual  sitting-room,  which  was  adjacent  to  a  not  insig- 
nificant library,  there  were,  among  many  paintings  and  engrav- 
ings, more  than  one  well-known  place  and  portrait  belonging 
to  my  Danish  home.  The  splendid  silver  candelabra,  a  gift 
from  the  Swedish  king,  Oscar,  stood  in  one  corner,  and  a 
magnificent  china  vase,  presented  to  Sir  John  Drummond 
Hay  by  the  Danish  king,  Christian  VIII.,  stood  in  the  oppo- 
site corner  of  the  apartment.  Every  window-blind  was  of 
Copenhagen  manufacture,  with  painted  views  of  the  palaces  of 
Frederick sborg,  Fredericksberg,  and  Rosenberg.  I  might 
have  fancied  myself  in  a  Danish  room  —  in  Denmark  —  and 
yet  I  was  in  another  quarter  of  the  globe. 

In  this  house  there  was  every  English  convenience,  even  to 
a  fire-place  ;  and  from  the  balconies  we  looked  out  upon  the 
little  garden,  where  the  oleanders  bloomed  amidst  the  chang-* 
ing  color  bell-flowers  I  had  seen  in  the  church-yard  at  Gibraltar. 
A  large  palm-tree  raised  its  lofty  head  in  the  clear  moonlit  air, 
and  imparted  to  the  view  its  foreign  appearance.  The  sea, 
with  its  white-crested  waves,  was  rolling  near,  and  the  light- 
house at  Tarifa  glimmered  upon  us  from  the  coast  of  Europe 
as  we  sat,  a  happy  circle,  in  the  handsomely  furnished,  com- 
fortable room.  Sir  John  told  us  about  the  country  and  the 
people  ;  he  told  us  also  about  his  journey  to  Morocco,  and  of 
his  residence  in  Constantinople. 

There  hung  on  the  wall  of  the  sitting-room  a  likeness  of  the 
most  beautiful  sultana  in  the  harem  of  Mahmud  II.,  the 

1  Western  Barbary,  its  Wild  Tribes  and  Savage  Animals,  by  John  H 
Drummond  Hay.  London,  1844. 


I4O  IN  SPAIN. 

grandfather  of  the  present  Sultan.  To  have  obtained  a  por- 
trait of  a  sultana  seems  almost  incredible  ;  this  picture  had  a 
romantic  history  of  its  own. 

The  Sultan  had  a  little  dwarf  of  a  most  hideous  appearance, 
but  so  wonderfully  clever  and  full  of  talent  that  he  amused 
his  majesty  very  much.  One  day,  when  the  dwarf  had  been 
particularly  witty  and  entertaining,  he  said,  "  What  will  you  give 
me  now,  my  lord ?  "  —  "I  will  give  you  any  one  of  my  wives 
whom  you  can  kiss,"  said  the  Sultan.  "  O,  but  I  cannot  reach 
up  to  kiss  any  of  them,"  replied  the  dwarf ;  "  they  would  laugh 
at  me."  —  "  That  is  your  affair,"  rejoined  the  Sultan,  ordering 
his  tobacco-pipe.  The  most  beautiful  of  all  his  women 
brought  it  in  ;  she  knelt  before  him,  and  presented  it  to  him. 
At  that  moment  the  dwarf  sprang  forward,  threw  his  arm  round 
her  neck,  and  kissed  her.  "  I  will  give  you  money,"  said  the 
Sultan,  "  but  not  her."—  "  The  Sultan  will  not  break  his  word," 
replied  the  dwarf.  "  Well,  she  is  yours,"  said  the  Sultan  ; 
"but  never  again,  from  this  time  forth,  dare  to  enter  the 
gates  of  the  seraglio."  The  beautiful  sultana  had  to  go  with 
the  dwarf.  She  was  plunged  into  grief,  and  burning  with 
anger,  —  "  You  have  carried  your  point,"  she  said,  "  but  I  also 
will  now  have  my  way.  I  will  live  free,  as  the  Christian 
women  live.  I  will  drive  out  when  I  please,  and  I  will  come 
home  when  I  please.  I  will  torment  you  :  I  will  make  you 
wretched  !  "  And  this  she  did  in  every  possible  way,  and 
•when  a  French  painter  came,  she  had  her  likeness  taken, 
and  this  was  how  her  portrait  was  obtained. 

It  was  midnight  before  I  retired  to  my  chamber.  But  I  did 
not  feel  as  if  I  required  either  sleep  or  repose  ;  occupied  with 
my  own  thoughts,  I  could  have  sat  long  looking  up  into  the 
boundless  atmosphere !  The  deepest  sea  is  shallow  com- 
pared to  that  infinite  depth.  I  heard  the  Turkish  Mundin 
sing  his  watchman's  song,  — 

It  is  better  to  pray  than  to  sleep  !     God  is  great ! 

The  ocean  murmured  its  eternal  tones.  At  length  I  lay  down, 
and  closed  my  eyes  in  a  Mohammedan  city. 

Tangier  is  the  old  Tinja  of  the  Romans  in  the  western  part 


A    VISIT  TO  AFRICA. 


141 


of  what  was  then  called  Mauritania  ;  in  the  eighth  century  it  was 
conquered  by  the  Moors,  in  the  fifteenth  by  the  Portuguese  ; 
these  presented  it,  a  hundred  years  later,  as  a  bridal  gift  with 
one  of  their  princesses,  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  England  ;  but 
after  about  a  score  of  years  it  was  restored  to  the  Moors. 
All  this  can  be  read  in  any  historical  work  or  gazetteer :  but 
it  is  always  well  to  know  something  of  the  place  one  is  in  ;  and 
with  this  knowledge  we  went  forth  next  day,  under  the  guid- 
ance of  the  most  confidential  servant  in  the  establishment, 
Hussein.  We  were  to  see  all  that  was  remarkable  in  the 
town,  and  also  to  visit  the  shop  of  a  Jew,  who  had  for  sale  a 
large  collection  of  Moorish  articles,  such  as  studs,  breast-pins, 
brooches,  and  other  little  matters  which  one  might  take  home 
to  Denmark  as  souvenirs  from  Tangier.  I  found  afterward, 
in  Paris,  at  a  shop  kept  by  a  Turk,  almost  similar  articles,  and 
when  I  asked  if  these  came  from  Tangier,  he  told  me  that  they 
were  all  manufactured  in  Paris,  therefore  were  not  half  so 
expensive  there  as  over  in  Africa.  They  were  sent  from 
France  in  large  quantities,  to  Algiers,  Oran,  and  all  the 
African  Mediterranean  towns  ;  purchased  in  these,  however, 
they  were  always  remembrances  of  Africa,  and  in  remem- 
brance lies  the  germ  of  fancy. 

Hussein  took  us  through  a  crowd  of  Jews  and  Moors.  They 
drew  to  one  side,  on  his  making  a  sign  with  his  hand  to  them  ; 
we  came  as  persons  of  distinction,  friends  or  relatives  of  the 
English  ambassador.  We  visited  one  or  two  caravansaries, 
heavy,  clumsy  buildings,  though  quite  in  the  Moorish  style. 
The  court-yard  and  the  porticoes  were  full  of  Arabs,  who  were 
selling  corn  and  poultry  •  huddled  close  together  stood  unla- 
den asses,  resting  themselves.  It  was  hardly  possible  to  get 
through  here,  every  place  was  so  occupied  ;  and  a  number  of 
women,  wrapt  up  in  their  large,  sack-like  garments,  had 
squeezed  themselves  in  between  the  asses  and  the  bags  of 
corn  ;  they  turned  toward  us,  and  glanced  at  us  with  one  eye, 
the  other  was  always  concealed  by  the  heads  of  their  sacks. 

At  the  gate  of  the  town  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  no  one 
could  move  for  a  few  moments  ;  the  camels,  asses,  children, 
and  old  people,  were  all  pressing  against  each  other ;  some 
wanted  to  go  out,  some  wanted  to  come  in ;  there  was  an 


142 


IN  SPAIN. 


awful  shouting  and  screaming.  At  length  we  managed  to  get 
through  the'  throng.  A  large  fire  had  been  kindled  in  the 
dried-up  moat ;  the  thick  dark  smoke  licked  the  walls. 
Butchers'  work  was  going  on  below ;  it  was  not  a  pleasant 
sight,  for  the  bloody  carcases  were  hung  up  in  the  full  sun- 
shine. Before  us,  in  the  sand,  lay  overloaded  camels  ;  while 
another  troop  we  saw  just  starting  on  their  journey  ;  they  were 
going,  it  was  said,  to  Tetuan :  the  men  who  accompanied  them 
were  heavily  armed,  and  carried  very  long  muskets,  the  road 
from  hence  not  being  safe. 

All  around  where  we  were  standing,  cooking  was  going  on  ; 
the  broiling  of  fish  we  both  saw  and  smelled.  A  few  young 
women  were  sitting  on  the  sand,  and  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
the  perfume ;  their  faces  had  slipped  out  from  beyond  the 
opening  of  their  sacks ;  when  we  came  they  quickly  turned 
away,  but  I  had  seen  their  pretty  eyes.  A  negro  with  large 
silver  rings  in  his  ears,  was  strutting  consequentially  about ; 
water  carriers,  with  amulets  in  their  hair,  came  with  their  full 
water-bags  ;  a  number  of  Moors  sat  in  a  circle  listening  to  a 
story-teller,  who,  as  he  discoursed,  constantly  struck  a  tambou- 
rine. It  was  a  very  interesting  sight,  and  the  whole  would  have 
formed  a  very  excellent  picture. 

We  went  over  the  pathless  common  to  the  Jews'  church- 
yard, which,  without  any  inclosure,  looked  like  a  field  with 
low  flat  tombstones,  upon  each  of  which  a  Hebrew  inscription 
was  to  be  seen.  Here  the  women  assembled  on  the  Sabbath, 
adorned  the  graves  with  burning  lights,  and  sat  in  conversa- 
tion, or  sang  choruses  to  the  accompaniment  of  stringed  instru- 
ments. The  view  from  this  spot  over  the  bay  is  inexpressibly 
beautiful.  As  we  were  standing  here,  the  caravan,  a  long  pro- 
cession, passed  over  the  beach,  where  the  waves,  white  with 
foam,  rolled  up  on  the  sands  ;  we  followed  it,  going  through  a 
ravine  with  towering,  dusty  cacti  and  fig-trees.  Down  by  the 
sea,  the  billows  were  dashing  high  over  the  ruined  mole  ;  we 
got  a  good  drenching  once  or  twice.  We  were  obliged  to 
creep  over,  or  get  over  as  we  best  could,  heaps  of  earth  and 
broken  walls  ;  then  again  to  mount  and  to  seek  a  footing,  till, 
at  last,  through  thick  and  thin,  we  reached  an  opening  in  the 
wall  of  the  town,  which  led  to  a  tan-yard  or  slaughter-house, 


A    VISIT  TO  AFRICA. 


'43 


or  piggery  might  have  been  the  most  appropriate  term  ;  and 
we  stood  again  in  one  of  the  rough,  break-neck  streets, 
whence  we  passed  into  a  small  lane,  and  entered  the  most  con- 
siderable sale-room  for  embroidered  slippers,  worked  cushions, 
studs,  and  brooches.  Inside  of  the  low  outer  door,  the  house 
was  very  handsome :  there  was  a  paved  court-yard,  surrounded 
by  slender  pillars  ;  a  staircase,  inlaid  with  squares  of  porce- 
lain, led  up  to  an  open  passage  with  small  rooms  ;  a  com- 
plete bazaar,  crowded  with  articles  richly  embroidered  in  gold, 
works  of  morocco-leather  and  metal.  The  rooms  were  redo- 
lent of  the  perfumes  of  roses,  musk,  and  myrrh.  The  young 
Jewish  girl,  who  showed  us  about,  was  very  slender  and  pretty. 
Her  mamma  was  on  a  larger  scale  :  she  might  have  sat  as  a 
model  for  Judith  —  that  is  to  say,^an  old  Judith  —  relating  to 
her  grandchildren  the  story  of  Holofernes. 

Friday  is  a  day  kept  sacred  by  the  Moors ;  and  therefore  on 
that  day  the  gates  of  Tangier  are  closed  as  long  as  prayers  are 
being  read  in  the  mosques.  Collin  was  not  aware  of  this 
regulation,  and,  after  our  town  wanderings,  had  set  off  on  an 
excursion  into  the  country.  In  the  afternoon  he  came  back, 
and  went  from  gate  to  gate,  but  in  vain ;  he  could  not  get  into 
the  town.  He  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  stroll  about,  and  in  so 
doing  he  came  to  the  Jews'  burying-ground.  The  women  had 
ranged  their  lights  on  the  graves,  and  were  sitting  among 
them,  singing,  and  playing  their  instruments.  An  old  Jew 
showed  him  a  path  which  led  up  to  the  castle,  where  the 
Pasha  resides,  and  told  him  that  it  was  only  by  this  way  he 
could  enter  the  town  at  that  time,  for  there  was  a  little  gate 
between  the  castle  and  the  town  always  kept  open.  Through 
this  gate  he  reached  us,  although  the  prayers  were  still  going 
on  in  the  mosques. 

I  also  ventured  out  into  the  streets  and  the  campagna  with- 
out a  guide.  No  one  was  rude  to  me ;  indeed,  a  couple  of 
Jews  were  rather  too  pressing  in  their  civilities  ;  they  pushed 
the  little  Moorish  children  to  one  side,  although  they  were 
scarcely  in  my  way.  A  Jew,  very  shabbily  dressed,  but  grin- 
ning from  ear  to  ear,  insisted  on  my  going  with  him  into  a 
side  street.  I  asked  him  what  was  to  be  seen  there.  "  A  Jew's 


144  IN  SPAIN- 

house,"  he  replied,  bowing  humbly  and  making  many  grimaces. 
My  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  I  followed  him  into  one  of  the 
little  narrow  alleys ;  we  were  quite  alone  ;  he  wished  me  to  go 
farther  up  within  this  inclosure ;  I  became  rather  dubious 
whether  I  should  trust  him  or  not.  With  all  his  poverty,  the 
man  looked  honest ;  yet  I  had  a  good  many  gold  pieces  about 
me,  —  was  I  on  the  eve  of  meeting  with  an  adventure  ?  He 
stopped  before  a  low  door  in  the  wall,  took  a  step  down,  stood 
again,  and  again  beckoned  to  me ;  I  followed  him.  We  en- 
tered a  small  paved  court,  where  a  dirty  old  Jewish  female 
was  employed  in  some  household  work.  A  few  steps  up  a 
rude  staircase  brought  us  to  a  little  open  room ;  here  lay  a 
pale  young  woman,  with  a  mat  over  her,  and  an  infant  in  her 
arms. 

"  A  Jew's  wife  —  a  Jew's  child  !  "  cried  the  man,  laughing 
and  jumping  about.  He  took  up  the  baby  and  held  it  before 
me,  that  I  might  see  it  was  really  of  the  race  of  Abraham.  I 
had  to  give  it  a  little  money.  The  woman  took  one  of  the 
cushions  she  was  lying  on  and  gave  it  to  me  for  a  seat.  The 
man  kissed  his  pale  pretty  wife,  then  kissed  his  child,  and 
looked  very  happy.  The  whole  furniture  of  the  apartment 
appeared  to  be  composed  of  some  rags  and  one  large  jar. 

The  next  day,  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  contrast 
between  the  abode  of  a  poor  and  a  wealthy  Jew.  The  richest 
Israelite  had  invited  me,  through  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay, 
to  come  to  his  house  and  see  how  one  of  the  leading  Jews  at 
Tangier  lived.  He  came  himself  for  me,  because  Sir  John, 
with  the  English  Consul  and  many  other  friends,  had  gone  to 
a  large  hunting  party,  which  I  did  not  feel  inclined  to  join. 
More  than  one  hundred  persons  had  gone  to  hunt  or  to  look 
on.  Jonas  Collin  rode  a  fine-looking  Arabian  horse,  a  gift 
from  the  Emperor  of  Morocco  ;  it  had  a  pedigree  tracing  back 
through  five  hundred  generations.  They  all  set  off  at  a  fu- 
rious gallop. 

The  Israelitish  merchant,  dressed,  like  myself,  in  the  French 
style,  took  me  to  his  house ;  it  was  situated  in  quite  as  con- 
fined an  alley  as  that  where,  the  day  before,  I  had  visited  the 
poor  Jew.  The  house  itself,  seen  from  the  outside,  did  not 
look  much  better ;  there  was  a  grated  square  hole  in  the  wall. 


A    VISIT  TO  AFRICA.  145 

and  a  low  door ,  Vut  when  I  had  crossed  the  threshold  into 
the  little  forecourt,  everything  wore  another  appearance.  The 
floor  and  the  stairs  were  laid  with  slabs  of  porcelain  ;  the  walls 
seemed  to  be  composed  of  polished  white  stone ;  the  rooms 
were  lofty  and  airy,  with  open  colonnades  leading  out  to  the 
court.  The  light  fell  from  above.  Within  sat  the  young  wife, 
equipped  in  her  costly  bridal  dress,  evidently  that  I  might 
see  it.  No  eastern  princess  could  have  been  more  magnifi- 
cently dressed ;  she  vied  with  the  splendor  described  in  the 
"  Arabian  Nights,"  when  Haroun-al-Raschid  went  forth  in 
search  of  adventures  in  Bagdad. 

She  wore  a  long,  open,  green  velvet  dress,  embroidered  in 
gold,  with  a  white  silk  petticoat  under  it ;  a  long  red  silk  scarf 
worked  in  gold  ;  a  brocaded  bodice  with  several  buttons,  each 
button  being  a  pearl ;  a  veil  of  golden  gauze  hung  over  her  bare 
arms,  which  were  covered  with  splendid  bracelets,  as  her  fin- 
gers were  with  costly  rings.  Her  hair,  according  to  the  Jewish 
fashion,  was  shaved  off,  but  false  curls  hung  from  the  blue  silk 
turban  on  her  head,  in  the  centre  of  which,  just  over  the  brow, 
sparkled  a  large  jewel.  Her  ear-rings  were  so  massive  that 
they  resembled  small  stirrups.  She  really  was  quite  a  splendid 
sight  to  gaze  at,  and  she  was  young  and  handsome,  with  coal- 
black  eyes  and  shining  white  teeth.  Her  husband  turned  her 
round  on  the  floor,  that  I  might  see  her  on  all  sides.  She 
spoke  Arabic  to  him,  and  a  few  words  of  Spanish  to  me. 
They  were  both  very  lively,  but  still  more  so  was  their  little 
daughter,  of  three  years  of  age ;  she  was  also  resplendent  in 
velvet  ar>d  gold  ;  laughingly,  she  offered  me  both  her  hand  and 
her  mouth ;  and  after  this  cakes  and  orange  liqueur  were 
brought  in. 

The  wife's  brother  joined  us,  along  with  two  older  ladies, 
members  of  the  family ;  they  were  not  in  their  bridal  apparel, 
but,  nevertheless,  were  dressed  in  a  peculiar  style.  The  Bible, 
with  the  English  and  the  Hebrew  texts,  was  brought  forth,  and 
they  were  greatly  surprised  that  I  —  as  every  schoolboy  in  our 
Latin  schools  is  able  to  do  —  could  read  the  whole  of  the  first 
verse  of  Genesis. 

My  kind  host  conducted  me  again  to  my  home  ;  but  when, 
on  the  way  to  it,  we  were  passing  another  well-appointed  Jew- 

10 


146  IN  SPAIN. 

ish  house,  in  which  his  sister  and  brother-in-law  resided,  he 
wished  me  to  go  in.  Here  the  inner  court  had  a  large  glass 
roof,  which  rested  upon  green  pillars,  and  rose  to  the  height 
of  three  stories,  forming  an  immense  hall,  which  was  hung 
with  tapestry,  and  had  matting  under  foot.  Small  open  cabi- 
nets, one  filled  with  a  number  of  Hebrew  books  and  manu- 
scripts, one  with  views  from  the  Bible,  and  others  with  articles 
of  household  use  and  luxury ;  all  seeming  to  proclaim  what  a 
pleasant  abode  this  must  be. 

The  lady  of  the  house,  who  was  no  longer  a  young  woman, 
was  dressed  in  black,  and  wore  a  handsome  head-dress,  re- 
ceived me  very  kindly.  There  were  other  ladies  present,  and 
some  children,  but  they  all  spoke  Arabic;  only  the  husband, 
who  soon  made  his  appearance,  spoke  English.  One  of  the 
little  Jewish  boys  amused  himself  very  much  during  my  visit : 
he  hid  his  face  behind  dresses  and  curtains,  bursting,  however, 
constantly  into  fits  of  laughter,  but  he  was  very  much  embar- 
rassed when  I  drew  him  forward,  and  asked  him  his  name, 
and  every  other  question  I  could  think  of.  His  mother  trans- 
lated to  him  what  I  said,  and  prompted  the  answers,  with 
which  he  was  not  very  ready.  I  observed  that,  afterward,  in 
a  corner  with  the  other  children,  he  raised  himself  upon  his 
toes,  and  stretched  his  arms  up,  to  show  how  tall  I  was.  My 
comical  young  friend  was  called  Moses  ;  a  nice  little  fellow  he 
was.  I  hope  that  he  may  live,  and  grow  up  ;  and  if  he  should 
be  as  tall  as  I  am,  how  I  should  laugh ! 

When  we  came  out  into  the  street,  we  saw  a  number  of 
Jews,  one  of  whom  was  entirely  dressed  in  red  satin.  Among 
the  crowd  was  a  little  negro  boy,  in  white  clothes,  with  a  gold- 
embroidered  scarf,  and  with  silver  bracelets  on  his  black  arms. 
It  was  quite  evident  that  he  was  vain  of  his  dress  and  appear- 
ance. I  asked  if  it  were  any  particular  day,  and  heard  that 
both  the  Moors  and  the  Jews  were  celebrating  a  festival. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  hunting  party  returned.  Collin 
was  busy  a  great  part  of  the  night  in  preparing,  as  skeletons, 
the  heads  of  some  of  the  wild  animals  that  had  been  killed 
He  also  brought  home  two  living  tortoises ;  they  were  taker 
with  .us  on  the  whole  of  our  journey,  and  lived,  for  several 


A    VISIT  TO   AFRICA. 


147 


months,  without  eating  or  drinking,  yet  they  reached  Copen- 
hagen alive. 

When  I  had  retired  to  my  couch,  I  was  suddenly  disturbed 
by  a  frightful  beating  of  drums ;  a  terrible  noise  was  heard 
from  all  the  streets  around.  I  jumped  up  and  inquired  the 
cause  of  this  uproar,  when  I  was  told  that  it  was  the  negroes 
in  the  town  who  were  drumming  so  vigorously ;  and  that  they 
were  probably  either  holding  a  feast,  or  celebrating  a  wedding. 
However,  the  next  day,  we  ascertained  that  the  foul  fiend  had 
entered  into  a  woman,  and  they  were  trying  to  drum  him  out. 
It  is  an  ancient  belief  in  the  North,  that  nisses  and  trolds  can- 
not endure  the  noise  of  drums ;  here,  I  now  learned,  that  his 
satanic  majesty  also  dislikes  that  species  of  music.  At  an 
early  part  of  the  morning  I  heard  singing  in  the  narrow  street, 
and  presently  the  name  of  Mohammed.  I  looked  out  from  the 
balcony  over  the  garden  wall,  and  saw  six  Moors  carrying  on 
their  shoulders  a  coffin,  which  had  a  red  scarf  wrapped  round 
it  —  a  sign  that  it  was  the  body  of  a  female  which  was  going 
to  be  buried :  the  coffins  of  men  are  always  without  any  orna- 
ment. A  great  number  of  people  followed  the  corpse  through 
the  little  alleys  to  the  mosque. 

Sir  John  Drummond  Hay  was  to  take  Collin  and  me,  after 
dinner,  up  to  the  fort,  to  introduce  us  to  the  Pasha ;  the  Pasha 
was  aware  of  our  coming.  His  seraglio,  on  the  occasion  of 
our  visit,  were  to  remove  to  some  interior  chambers.  His 
Majesty,  the  reigning  Emperor  of  Morocco,  has  only,  I  heard, 
about  a  couple  of  hundred  wives  ;  his  father,  on  the  contrary, 
though  he  was  seventy  years  of  age,  had  800  ladies,  and,  in 
addition  to  these,  he  had  sent  to  him,  every  tenth  day,  a  young, 
fresh  girl,  a  customary  gift  from  the  different  cadis.  How 
large  the  number  retained  by  the  Pasha  of  Tangier  may  be,  I 
do  not  know. 

On  leaving  the  town,  we  ascended,  amidst  high  walls  and 
fortifications,  to  the  castle.  The  whole  of  the  guards  were 
drawn  up  in  the  outer  court,  in  honor  of  our  arrival.  Bur- 
nooses,  bare  feet  in  yellow  morocco  slippers,  turbans,  and 
sabres,  was  the  uniform.  The  officer  of  the  guard  shook 
hands  with  us,  and,  at  the  open  inner  gate,  we  beheld  the 
Pasha  himself —  a  handsome,  clever-looking  man,  apparently 


148  IN  SPAIN. 

about  fifty  years  of  age  ;  he  also  had  naked  feet  in  yellow 
morocco  slippers.  Otherwise,  he  was  extremely  well  dressed, 
in  an  expensive  white  burnoose,  with  a  turban  of  the  finest 
muslin.  Sir  John  presented  us  and  his  two  daughters,  who 
had  accompanied  us,  and  we  were  received,  not  only  with 
cordiality,  but  with  European  good  breeding.  The  Pasha 
shook  hands  with  us,  and  took  us  into  the  paved  court,  which 
reminded  us  of  the  Alhambra,  except  that  the  pillars  which 
supported  the  horseshoe  arches  had  here  Grecian  capitals. 
Two  officers,  high  in  the  Morocco  army,  accompanied  us. 
Chairs  were  brought  for  us,  but  the  Pasha  himself  sat  on  a 
cushion,  under  which  a  splendid  carpet  was  spread  over  the 
floor.  He  and  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay  spoke  to  each  other 
in  Arabic  ;  that  seemed  to  be  the  only  language  he  could  speak. 
Tea  was  brought  in,  and  we  had  each  to  swallow  two  large 
cupful s.  They  were  like  taking  a  warm  bath.  A  third  cup 
was  about  to  be  inflicted  on  us,  but  I  begged  Sir  John  to  stop 
it,  and  to  say  that  it  was  against  our  religion  to  drink  three 
cups.  Happily,  therefore,  we  escaped  the  third  cup.  Sponge 
cakes  were  then  served  round,  and  after  that  we  were  taken 
through  the  dark  crooked  passages  in  the  palace,  past  small 
mysterious-looking  closets,  and  bath-rooms.  We  passed 
through  a  little  orange-garden ;  above  it,  in  the  walls,  were 
small  grated  windows,  and  one  of  the  officers  touched  Collin 
on  the  arm,  and  whispered  "  Pretty  eyes  !  "  Above,  these  pretty 
eyes  were  indeed  looking  down  on  us  ;  they  belonged  to  the 
Pasha's  seraglio.  Poor  doves  in  a  dove-cote !  Cooing  ten- 
derly, but  as  jealous  as  doves. 

The  Pasha  offered  us  horses  to  ride  down  to  the  town,  but 
we  preferred  to  walk  ;  he  accompanied  us  to  the  outer  gate  of 
the  castle,  where  he  shook  hands  with  us,  and  bade  us,  in  the 
kindest  manner,  farewell. 

When  we  returned  home,  we  found  letters  awaiting  us  from 
Denmark  ;  they  had  only  been  eight  days  in  coming.  Consul 
Mathiasen  had  sent  me  also,  from  Gibraltar,  the  Copenhagen 
"  Dagbladet ; "  it  seemed  as  if  the  African  house  had  been 
suddenly  transported  through  the  air  to  our  home  in  the 
North. 


A    VISIT   TO   AFRICA. 


149 


Every  tenth  day  a  steamer  goes  from  Algiers  to  France  ;  it 
calls  at  Oran,  Gibraltar,  Tangier,  Cadiz,  etc.,  etc.  It  was  ex- 
pected at  Tangier  early  in  the  morning  of  the  ninth  November, 
but  it  was  not  yet  in  sight.  We  were  going  by  it  to  Cadiz. 

It  was  Sunday.  The  population  of  Tangier  consists  of 
Moors  and  Jews  ;  the  few  Roman  Catholics  and  Protestants 
here  have  neither  church  nor  chapel  ;  therefore  the  devotional 
duties  of  Sunday  must  be  performed  in  their  own  houses,  or 
in  their  own  hearts.  Down  in  the  garden-room  a  cloth  was 
spread  over  the  table,  a  Bible  and  Psalm-books  were  laid 
upon  it,  and  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay  read  aloud  to  us  some 
of  the  Psalms,  and  the  portions  of  the  Old  and  New  Testa- 
ments appointed  for  the  lessons  of  the  day.  The  mind  was 
raised  to  solemn  thought  during  this  quiet,  unpretending  church 
service. 

In  a  few  hours  I  should  have  to  leave  this  home,  which  I 
had  found  in  a  distant  land,  in  another  quarter  of  the  globe  ; 
I  should  have  to  bid  farewell  to  friends  who,  during  the  short 
time  we  had  been  together,  had  been  so  kind,  and  had  sought 
to  make  everything  so  pleasant  to  me.  It  was  quite  uncertain 
if  we  should  ever  meet  again  in  this  world  ;  assuredly  I  should 
never  again  be  on  the  coast  of  Africa. 

We  saw  the  steamer  approaching  ;  it  was  the  French  ship 
of  war,  Titan ;  it  was  soon  at  anchor  in  the  bay.  The  ser- 
vants collected  our  luggage  ;  Hussein  and  Boomgrais  went  on 
before  us  ;  Sir  John  Drummond  Hay  accompanied  us  to  the 
boat.  I  cannot  bear  partings  ;  my  heart  was  very  sad ;  one 
more  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  and  we  heard  his  last  farewell 
as  we  left  the  shore.  From  the  boat  we  could  see  Lady 
Drummond  Hay  and  her  two  young  daughters,  standing  on 
the  balcony  of  their  house  ;  they  waved  their  handkerchiefs  to 
us,  and  we  waved  our  hats  to  them  in  return.  Our  boatmen 
rowed  vigorously.  The  sun  went  down,  and  as  it  becomes 
here  immediately  dark,  evening  had  set  in  before  we  reached 
the  steamer. 

From  the  deck  we  saw  once  more,  over  the  water,  the  white 
walls  and  low  roofs  of  Tangier.  Lights  glimmered  from  the 
town.  I  felt  in  very  low  spirits. 

Our  sojourn  on  the  African  coast  had  been  the  most  inter- 
esting part  of  our  travels  hitherto. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CADIZ. 

WE  now  found  ourselves  on  board  a  large,  well-manned 
craft,  with  cannon  on  both  sides  :  it  might  have  easily 
withstood  an  encounter  with  pirates,  if  there  had  been  any 
about.  Little  care  had  been  taken  to  provide  for  the  comfort 
of  the  passengers.  However,  the  officers'  cabins,  which  were 
on  deck,  were  good  and  nicely  arranged  ;  a  pretty  little  library 
was  not  even  forgotten  here,  and  I  found  one  of  the  young  offi- 
cers deep  in  the  "  Arabian  Nights,"  but  he  was  reading  it  in 
the  Arabic  language. 

It  was  somewhat  past  seven  o'clock  when  the  ship  was  set 
in  motion.  The  moon  had  not  yet  risen  ;  it  was  rather  dark. 
I  retired  early  to  my  cabin,  and  went  to  sleep  ;  buf  I  "was 
awakened  by  a  sudden  shock:  the  ship  was  stationary,  the 
machines  had  stopped;  I  heard  the  steam  rushing  out  of  the 
funnel.  It  was  not  yet  half-past  one.  There  was  a  tremen- 
dous noise  overhead  ;  commands  were  issued,  great  commo- 
tion and  stir — something  unusual  must  have  happened.  I 
jumped  out  of  my  cabin  and  rushed  on  deck.  The  ship  lay 
very  much  over  on  one  side,  and  most  of  the  crew  were  bend- 
ing over  the  gunwale.  I  asked  what  was  the  matter,  but  it 
was  long  before  I  obtained  an  answer  ;  at  length  I  was  told 
that  we  had  run  aground.  No  land  was  to  be  seen,  the  heav- 
ens were  bright  with  stars,  the  sea  tolerably  calm ;  the  sailors 
had  not  time  to  say  a  word  to  me  ;  they  all  had  plenty  to  do. 
We  were  in  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  not  far  from  Trafalgar.  I  had 
awoke  Collin,  and  he  also  now  made  his  appearance  on  deck. 
A  few  minutes  later  the  vessel  was  moving  again,  backing 
slowly  out  of  the  soft  earth,  but  there  was  no  sleep  for  me  now. 
The  paddle-wheels  struck  the  sea  with  heavy  strokes,  and  we 
darted  forward  through  the  crest  of  the  ocean,  leaving  long 


CADIZ.  I  5  I 

swelling  waves  behind  us.  At  half-past  four  in  the  morning 
we  cast  anchor  at  Cadiz ;  but  we  had  many  hours  to  wait, 
before  that  not  very  vigilant  quarantine-committee  deigned  to 
make  their  appearance,  to  receive  the  captain's  papers,  and  to 
give  us  permission  to  land. 

The  sun  rose  ;  Cadiz  lay  before  us,  shining  white,  with  flat- 
roofed  houses,  which  looked  as  if  they  were  formed  of  chalk  ^ 
the  bay  was  quite  full  of  vessels ;  we  were  a  considerable  dis- 
tance from  the  shore.  One  boat  after  another  came  out  to 
our  steamer,  and  remained  to  take  the  passengers  off.  The 
part  where  we  were  standing  on  the  deck  was  becoming 
smaller  and  smaller  every  moment ;  they  had  already  begun 
to  clean  up  ;  the  sailors  washed  and  scrubbed  away.  Even 
in  the  very  machinery  compartment  there  was  a  great  washing 
going  on  ;  we  saw  it  from  above.  The  stoker  and  his  assistant 
had  undressed  themselves  entirely,  and  there  they  were  down 
below  rubbing  each  other  with  soap,  and  pouring  one  bucket 
of  water  after  the  other  over  each  other,  as  much  for  their 
amusement  as  for  their  mutual  benefit. 

At  length  we  saw  the  red-yellow  Spanish  flag  waving  from 
the  boat  that  brought  the  health-committee,  and  we  now  ob- 
tained permission  to  go  on  shore.  I  was  surprised  that,  in 
Cadiz,  as  in  Malaga  and  Valencia,  we  were  not  asked  for  our 
passports.  When,  on  the  contrary,  we  entered  Spain  from  the 
land  side,  and  later,  on  leaving  the  country  for  Bayonne,  our 
passports  were  demanded  and  also  a  fee.  It  seems  as  if 
those  who  enter  Spain  from  the  sea,  may  travel  all  over  the 
country  without  a  passport ;  in  the  interior  it  was  never  even 
mentioned. 

The  visitation  at  the  custom-house  was  very  trifling,  and 
after  we  had  got  over  the  usual  extortions  from  the  boatmen 
and  porters,  we  betook  ourselves  to  the  "  Fonda  de  Paris,"  in 
all  respects  a  most  excellent  hotel. 

I  was  astonished  to  find  in  Cadiz  such  perfect  cleanliness, 
such  neat,  white-plastered  houses,  and  so  many  flagstaffs ;  but 
in  other  respects  there  was  nothing  to  attract  a  stranger. 
There  were  no  picture  galleries,  no  Moorish  reminiscences  of 
any  importance.  The  streets  did  not  display  the  life  and 
animation  which  we  had  seen  in  Gibraltar  ;  for  us,  who  had 


152  IN  SPAIN. 

just  come  from  the  coast  of  Morocco,  there  was  nothing  new 
here,  nothing  peculiar,  nothing  striking :  Cadiz  did  not  exactly 
interest  us.  Perhaps  it  might  also  have  been  the  case  if  we 
had  come  hither  overland  from  the  north ;  but  one  charm 
Cadiz  did  possess  —  the  sea,  the  vast  rolling  sea.  The 
Alameda  was  pleasantly  situated,  and  presented  a  view  over 
the  wide,  open  bay ;  large  waves  dashed  against  the  harbor 
walls,  sea-gulls  flew  screaming  over  the  foaming  billows  ;  a 
quantity  of  fishing-boats,  like  a  flock  of  gigantic  birds  with 
wide  outstretched  wings,  were  steering  for  the  harbor.  The 
roads  were  full  of  ships ;  the  flags  of  every  nation  waved  from 
them.  In  the  Alameda  there  is  a  long  row  of  flower-beds 
fenced  in,  and  four  palm-trees,  one  at  each  end  of  the  long 
promenade ;  casts  of  statues  are  also  not  wanting.  The  wind 
was  much  keener  than  yonder  in  Africa  ;  there,  the  sun  shone 
warmly,  it  was  still  summer-like,  but  Cadiz  inspired  no  sym 
pathy.  The  fault  may  have  been  mine,  or  it  may  have  been 
the  fault  of  the  town  of  Cadiz  itself.  I  saw  it  from  the  Ala- 
meda, I  saw  it  from  the  harbor,  from  the  market-place  and 
streets,  from  my  high-up  window,  in  front  of  which  people 
were  walking  about  the  flat  roofs,  drawing  ropes  across  upon 
which  to  dry  articles  of  clothing  that  are  seldom  mentioned. 

CADIZ. 

Hung  like  bird-cages,  large  and  green, 
On  the  white  houses'  walls  are  seen 
Gay  balconies  in  such  profusion, 
That  to  the  eye  there  seems  confusion. 
Here  Cleanliness  asserts  her  sway, 
The  very  roofs  are  washed  each  day  ; 
Yes,  Cadiz  looks  in  Sunday  dress, 
But  'tis  the  abode  of  weariness  ; 
And  were  the  bright  sea  not  so  near, 
One  surely  would  feel  buried  here. 

This  is  more  severely  expressed  than  meant,  for  some  pleas- 
ure did  await  us  here.  In  Cadiz  we  found  dear  letters  from 
home  for  us :  in  Cadiz  we  met  some  countrymen ;  young 
Frederic  Zinn  lived  here,  and  as  it  happens,  was  in  the  very 
mercantile  house  to  which  I  was  recommended.  In  the  roads 
was  the  ship  Dorothea,  belonging  to  the  house  of  Melchior 


CADIZ. 


153 


in  Copenhagen :  Captain  Harboe,  who  commanded  her,  had 
been  in  the  town  and  had  told  one  of  his  passengers,  the 
marine  officer  Kohlenberg,  that  he  had  met  a  person  in  the 
street  who  was  incredibly  like  the  poet  H.  C.  Andersen ;  he 
had  very  nearly  gone  up  and  spoken  to  him,  but  Andersen 
was  not  in  Spain.  We  met  somewhat  later,  and  exchanged 
tidings  from  our  dear  Denmark. 

Cadiz  possesses,  like  all  the  larger  Spanish  towns,  an  ex- 
tremely elegant  casino,  where  you  find  a  great  assortment  of 
home  and  foreign  newspapers :  we  were  most  kindly  intro- 
duc.ed  and  received  here. 

When,  in  1835,  the  inhabitants  of  Saragossa  set  the  example 
of  burning  the  monasteries  and  murdering  the  monks,  and 
tumult  and  uproar  spread  all  over  the  country,  Cadiz  gave  her 
monks  a  respite  of  five  hours  to  clear  out  of  their  monasteries, 
and  placed  military  guards  around  them  to  prevent  incendiar- 
ism. The  populace  took  possession  of  their  stores,  and 
burned  the  furniture  and  the  books,  but  the  building  was 
spared.  Cadiz  has  no  ruins,  no  damages,  to  exhibit  from  that 
period.  The  impression  made  upon  you  here,  is  prevailing 
order  and  cleanliness  ;  that  you  are  in  a  large  mercantile 
town,  where  the  romantic  can  only  be  sought  in  contemplating 
the  sea  and  the  Andalusian  eyes  :  these  sparkle  splendidly  in 
the  lovely,  graceful  ladies  who,  enveloped  in  their  mantillas, 
promenade  up  and  down  the  Alameda,  rivaling  in  light  those 
of  Circe  and  Lais. 

The  surrounding  country  is  exceedingly  flat,  and  covered 
with  drifting  sand,  tracts  of  heath,  and  salt  morasses  for  miles 
long.  High  salt-pyramids  tower  from  the  dark  ground.  There 
are  no  places  worth  making  excursions  to  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Xeres  de  la  Frontera  was  the  only  spot  near  men- 
tioned to  us  as  interesting  to  visit  —  not  on  account  of  its 
churches  or  its  historical  reminiscences,  no  !  —  but  to  admire 
its  store-houses  of  wines,  and  to  be  astonished  at  their  perfec- 
tion, and  at  the  quantity  accumulated  here. 

There  is  not  much  to  relate  about  Cadiz :  this  town  was  a 
miserable  beginning  to  the  journey  back  from  Tangier.  Hith- 
erto Spain  had  not  afforded  me  the  materials  for  a  single  tale. 


154 


IN  SPAIN. 


Would  I  be  able  to  redeem  my  promise  to  a  circle  of  dear 
little  children  ?  What  did  they  not  expect  to  hear  related  of 
Spanish  girls,  of  Spanish  flies,  Spanish  peppers,  Spanish 
canes,  Spanish  verdure,  to  which  might  be  added  Spanish 
mantles,  Spanish  dangers,  and  Spanish  winds. 

During  my  wanderings  through  the  town  I  passed  an  open 
workshop,  in  which  a  young  cabinet-maker  was  busily  occu- 
pied polishing  something ;  he  was  singing  merrily,  and  more- 
over it  was  German  that  he  sung ;  so  I  spoke  to  him  in  his 
mother  tongue,  and  he  became  still  more  jovial.  He  had 
quite  the  fair  Northern  complexion,  with  red  cheeks  and  blue 
eyes ;  he  came  from  a  small  town  in  Wiirtemberg,  and  now 
was  going  to  be  married  in  Cadiz :  he  was  beaming  with  joy 
and  pleasure,  and  stood  there  polishing  away  at  a  coffin. 
Rightly  considered,  there  really  is  nothing  sad  about  this. 

In  summer-time  there  grows  a  beautiful  tree  in  the  woods : 
the  sun  shines  upon  it,  the  birds  warble  in  it,  and  the  winds 
waft  to  and  fro  the  green  branches.  The  tree  is  cut  down ; 
this  is  its  destiny ;  four  good  boards  are  sawn  from  it,  and 
these  are  brought  to  the  workshop  of  the  joiner. 

Of  four  poor  planks  our  grandeur's  made, 
When  in  the  gloomy  grave  we're  laid. 

There  is  much  room  for  reflection  on  this  subject.  Four 
boards,  with  a  little  velvet  and  gold,  that  soon  decay,  are  a 
monarch's  last  kingdom  ;  four  boards  await  us  all,  the  richest 
and  the  poorest :  naked  we  come  into  the  world  ;  here  we  first 
put  on  a  coat,  coarse  woolen,  or  velvet ;  we  receive  different 
gifts  from  our  Lord,  —  gifts  of  genius  and  uprightness,  the  gift 
of  good  connections  or  wealth  —  the  last  is  the  most  useful. 
Four  boards  !  —  the  shrine  of  death,  the  shrine  of  the  cast-off 
body,  there  it  stands ;  our  winding  sheet  is  therein  deposited, 
and  we  put  on  a  new  and  a  better  garb  ;  and  what  a  happiness 
in  this  ! 

Such  was  probably  the  joiner's  train  of  thought  as  he  worked 
away  at  the  coffin  •  it  was  mine,  at  any  rate.  This  was  the 
only  romantic  incident  that  I  stumbled  upon  in  Cadiz.  I  do 
not  doubt  that  a  few  days'  life  with  the  herdsmen  upon  the 


CADIZ.  155 

vast  plains  of  the  Guadalquiver  might  have  afforded  richer 
materials  :  the  river,  which  was  navigable  even  for  large  ships, 
wound  itself  in  wide  creeks  up  to  Sevilla ;  before  the  railway 
was  laid  down,  the  river  transit  was  the  most  used.  I  daresay 
that  a  ride  with  a  communicative  smuggler  might  have  afforded 
subject-matter  to  have  filled  an  entire  volume.  It  is  not  many 
years  ago  that  more  than  one  young  man  in  Andalusia  played 
a  conspicuous  part  in  one  or  other  of  the  guerrilla  bands  dur- 
ing the  civil  war :  their  debut  had  been  made,  and  their  cour- 
age and  boldness  tested  in  some  plundering  expedition,  or  in 
some  robber-attack  ;  however,  they  soon  found  out  that  this 
was  no  very  honorable  occupation.  Perhaps  in  the  streets  or 
in  the  harbor,  I  may  have  stood  side  by  side  with  such  an 
individual,  a  fit  hero  for  a  highly  interesting  novel :  but  the 
hero  did  not  proclaim  himself  in  song  like  the  joiner's  man 
who  was  polishing  the  coffin  ;  he  did  not  trumpet  forth  the 
events  of  his  past  life.  Cadiz  doubtless  conceals  within  her 
ample  materials  for  the  romantic,  but  the  stranger  does  not 
perceive  them.  Hacklander,  in  his  glorious  picturesque  jour- 
ney through  Spain,  calls  Cadiz  the  "Queen  of  the  Ocean  in 
widow's  weeds  :  "  in  other  respects,  like  myself,  he  speaks  only 
of  the  clean,  whitewashed  houses,  the  ornamental  balconies, 
and  the  pretty  smiling  women. 

We  were  recommended  to  take  the  railway  to  Sevilla,  and 
not  to  try  the  tiresome  journey  by  steamer ;  the  Guadalquiver 
forms  innumerable  bays,  and  the  only  variation  to  be  seen  on 
its  banks,  is  restricted  to  its  herds  of  cattle. 

We  left  by  the  afternoon's  train.  For  about  the  first  mile 
you  go  along  the  sea-shore  ;  large  waves  were  rolling  up,  the 
country  was  uncommonly  flat.  The  drifting  sands  extend  far 
and  wide,  even  to  the  distant  salt  morasses  ;  it  was  lonely  and 
deserted  here.  Salt-pyramids,  such  as  those  we  had  seen  in 
France  in  the  neighborhood  of  Cette,  rose  from  the  gray 
brown  soil.  We  stopped  at  a  few  sea-side  stations  ;  the  coun- 
try began  now  to  assume  more  and  more  the  appearance  of 
a  heath  ;  the  dwarf-palm  was  the  most  common  shrub  here  :  a 
large  pine-forest,  the  most  extensive  that  we  have  seen  in 
Spain,  stretched  itself  far  over  the  hills.  The  sun  went  down, 
and  the  heavens  borrowed  its  evening  tints,  a  golden  endless 


156  M  SPAIN. 

expanse,  too  vast  for  the  eye  to  encompass.  We  approached 
Xeres  de  la  Frontera,  which  for  historians  has  a  peculiar  inter- 
est: it  was  here  that  in  the  year  711,  as  is  well  known,  the 
youthful  general  Tarik,  at  the  age  of  -two  and  twenty,  fought 
for  nine  days  without  interruption,  and  gained  a  victory  which, 
in  its  prosecution  under  the  viceroys  of  Ceuta,  brought  the 
whole  of  Spain  under  the  dominion  of  the  caliphs  of  Omi- 
jaden. 

The  rail  way- station  at  which  we  stopped  was  situated  far 
from  the  town ;  we  saw  its  churches  and  whitewashed  houses 
clearly  in  the  bright  evening  air,  but  immediately  we  began  to 
move  forward,  they  were  hid  behind  the  heath-covered  hills. 
The  twilight  increased  more  and  more ;  here  and  there  a  large 
fire  was  blazing  close  to  the  railroad,  and  men  were  sitting 
around  it :  it  was  only  a  cursory  glance  we  got  of  the  groups. 
We  flew  onward  toward  Sevilla,  the  birthplace  of  Murillo ; 
the  city  where  Cervantes  composed  part  of  his  Don  Quixote  ; 
the  city  which  is  connected  with  the  tale  of  Don  Juan,  where 
he  died,  a  pious,  holy  man,  and  where  his  grave  is,  with  the 
epitaph  which  he  himself  indited.  The  locomotive  rushed 
onward,  puffing  and  panting ;  all  around  was  darkness ;  we 
saw  nothing  of  the  many  towers  of  the  town,  of  the  splendid 
Giralda,  and  the  ancient  walls  from  the  time  of  Julius  Caesar ; 
the  steam  from  the  locomotive  was  alone  visible :  it  floated 
away  like  misty  spirits  from  the  burial  of  Don  Juan,  and  yet 
it  was  not  the  midnight  spectral  hour. 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  we  reached  Sevilla,  where 
we  got  out.  The  train  puffed  onward  to  Cordoba,  where  the 
railway  stopped. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

SEVILLA. 

WE  lodged  at  the  Fonda  de  Londres.  My  balcony 
looked  out  upon  the  Plaza  Nueva,  which  is  very  ex- 
tensive, and  planted  with  allees  of  orange-trees  laden  with 
golden  fruit ;  marble  benches  for  the  promenaders  were  not 
wanting.  The  air  was  clear ;  countless  stars  shone.  I  took  a 
seat  upon  my  balcony,  lighted  my  cigar,  and,  contemplating 
its  flame  and  smoke,  the  first  evening  in  Sevilla  called  forth 
the  verse  about  the  — • 

CIGAR. 

In  the  glow  of  the  cigar, 
Spirits  of  fire  there  are  ; 
In  the  steam  that  puffs  and  swells, 
A  necromancer  dwells. 
Like  Fata  Morgana,  there 
He  builds  a  castle  fair  ; 
And  with  his  magic  to  my  home 
He  leads  my  thoughts  to  roam- 
That  seas  and  mountains  intervene 
It  and  myself  between 
Forgotten  is,  —  that  down  below 
Bright  orange-blossoms  blow- 
Now  my  cigar  I  lay  aside, 
And,  standing  in  its  pride, 
Sevilla  I  behold  once  more  ; 
The  dream  of  home  is  o'er  ! 

The  cathedral  at  Sevilla,  the  largest  of  all  the  churches  of 
Spain,  the  Moorish  Alcazar,  and  lastly  Murillo's  matchless  pic- 
tures, make  Sevilla  one  of  the  most  interesting  cities  of  Eu- 
rope ;  the  sea  alone  is  wanting :  with  the  sea,  Sevilla  would 
be  perfect,  the  city  of  cities,  — 

Sevilla,  happy,  charming  place  !  — 
rich  in  song  and  legend,  in  reminiscences  of  the  past,  and 


158  IN  SPAIN. 

great  names !  The  whole  town  has  been  set  to  music,  has 
been  painted  in  tones  :  Rossini  took  "  The  Barber  of  Sevilla  " 
as  the  text  for  his  opera.  I  believe,  however,  that  another  has 
said  and  written  this  before  me,  but  many  will  repeat  it  yet. 

The  cathedral  was  once  a  mosque,  but  the  architect  under- 
stood how  to  add  to  and  rebuild  it :  the  cupola  appears  to  be 
suspended,  held  up  as  if  by  an  unseen  power.  The  vast  area 
has  been  widened,  and  it  has  been  heightened  until  it  has  be- 
come the  grandest  of  churches,  with  chapels  and  side-buildings, 
each  one  a  church  in  itself.  You  are  quite  overpowered  by  the 
elaborate  carvings  in  wood,  by  the  gorgeous  pictures  painted 
in  the  large  windows,  by  the  stern  grandeur  in  the  style  of  the 
whole  structure.  The  walls  are  adorned  with  pictures  by 
Murillo  ;  among  these,  his  celebrated  composition,  the  "  Holy 
St.  Antony."  In  front  of  the  cathedral  rises  La  Giralda, 
a  four-cornered,  slender  Moorish  clock-tower,  the  highest  in 
Spain :  five-and-twenty  clocks  vibrate  in  a  circle  up  yonder ; 
a  winged  female  figure,  representing  Faith,  stands  upon  the  up- 
permost point,  glittering  in  the  bright  sunshine.  One  can  ride 
up  on  horseback  to  the  very  top,  so  gradual  and  so  easy  are  the 
steps  of  ascent.  The  inventor  of  algebra,  Al-Geber,  passed 
many  nights  up  in  the  old  Giralda-tower,  studying  the  stars. 

In  front  of  the  western  entrance  of  the  cathedral  is  the  old 
Moorish  court,  el  patio  de  los  naranjos,  which  is  planted  with 
orange-trees,  and  where  water  bubbles  and  murmurs.  Here 
in  the  open  air,  a  pulpit,  hewn  out  of  stone  has  been  erected. 
Before  the  eastern  entrance  lies  the  exchange,  Lonja,  a  huge, 
four-cornered  building,  in  the  formal  court-yard  of  which  a 
small  statue  of  Christopher  Columbus  has  been  placed :  the 
broad  stone  stairs  lead  to  large  saloons  containing  costly  cab- 
inets, which  are  the  archives  of  the  documents  relating  to 
America,  from  its  discovery  to  the  present  day. 

Passing  the  Lonja  you  reach  the  Moorish  kings'  palace,  the 
superb  Alcazar.  It  is  in  excellent  preservation  :  resplendent 
with  gold  and  colors  ;  it  looks  as  fresh  as  if  belonging  to  a 
more  recent  period ;  in  short,  as  if  it  were  only  a  few  weeks 
since  the  Moors  had  departed  thence. 

The  Alhambra  of  Granada  is  like  a  dreamy  vision,  conjured 
up  by  the  bright,  wonderful  moonlight  of  the  south;  the 


SE  VILLA. 


159 


vanished  forms  that  once  dwelt  there  are  not  visible,  nor  do  we 
expect  to  meet  them.  The  Alcazar  in  Sevilla  is  no  dreamy 
vision  ;  it  is  a  reality,  seen  in  the  bright  sunny  hours  of  day. 
You  fancy  that  mighty  princes  and  their  charming  ladies  may 
suddenly  appear.  All  within  is  so  fresh,  so  life-like,  the  eye 
is  astonished  at  the  richness  of  the  coloring  and  gilding ;  here 
again  you  find  the  peculiar,  lace-like  porcelain  decorations, 
so  universal  in  the  Alhambra ;  the  doors  are  composed  of  a 
mosaic  of  variegated  woods.  You  stand  as  it  were  in  a  magic 
building,  in  which  kaleidoscopic  pictures  and  Brussels  lace 
are  converted  into  walls,  the  ground  of  which  seems  to  be  gold  ; 
the  whole  supported  by  slender,  graceful  marble  columns. 
The  eye  is  unable  to  follow  the  numberless  entwinings  in  this 
chaos  of  arabesque,  and  yet  it  dwells  with  pleasure  on  the 
many  labyrinth-like  ramifications  which,  if  I  may  so  express 
myself,  produce  flowers  in  arabesque  inscriptions.  A  higher 
story,  added  to  it  at  a  subsequent  period,  and  arranged  for  the 
accommodation  of  the  later  Spanish  kings  when  they  chose 
to  reside  in  Sevilla,  rather  detracts  from  the  original  beauty 
of  the  building,  though  it  must  always  remain  surpassingly 
lovely.  The  interior  court  —  one  might  call  it  the  middle  hall 
of  the  palace,  where  the  heaven  above  forms  the  ceiling  —  has 
something  so  enchanting  about  it,  that  one  might  fancy  one's 
self  in  a  fairy  palace.  The  Alcazar  belongs  totally  and  entirely 
to  "  The  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments  ; "  one  is  here  quite 
overwhelmed  by  the  oriental  pomp  and  splendor.  Everything 
here  is  in  the  same  style,  and  yet  how  different !  It  would 
scarcely  have  surprised  us  if  suddenly  Haroun-al-Raschid  and 
the  Princess  Scheherezade  had  walked  past  us,  or  if  beautiful 
sultanas  had  greeted  us  from  among  the  arched  galleries. 

We  entered  the  garden ;  it  is  surrounded  by  edifices  which 
reminded  us  of  the  Renaissance  period,  heavy  but  character- 
istic, blending,  however,  admirably  with  the  old-fashioned 
peculiar  pleasure-grounds.  We  saw  here  stiffly  cut  myrtle 
hedges ;  large,  perfectly  flat  flower-beds  in  the  forms  of  weap- 
ons, crowns,  and  maps  ;  even  the  orange-trees  had  not  been 
permitted  to  retain  their  natural  beautiful  shape  ;  the  scissors 
had  trimmed  them  into  various  forms.  In  the  midst  of  large 
brick  sluices  rose  ingenious  rocks,  and  grottoes  overgrown  with 


-frV  SPAIN. 

plants.  Paths  paved  with  stones  crossed  each  other,  and 
could  be  put  under  water  ;  by  machinery  and  pipes  the  water 
was  forced  up,  springing  in  hundreds  of  jets  from  hole  after 
hole  in  these  walks,  and  cooling  the  heated  air.  In  the  centre 
of  the  garden  stands  a  small  Moorish  arbor  •  it  is  like  a 
curious  flower  composed  of  lime  and  moss,  a  wonderful 
antique  thing,  both  inside  and  outside. 

In  the  streets  of  the  city  I  had  found  the  air  a  little  too 
cool ;  here,  in  the  garden  of  the  Alcazar,  it  was  charming, 
warm,  and  sunny  :  the  oranges  hung  amidst  the  dark  foliage  ; 
the  roses  blossomed  sweet  and  lovely.  Beneath  the  building 
are  the  Moorish  baths ;  we  stepped  into  one  of  these  brick 
basins  ;  it  is  as  broad  as  a  carriage  road,  as  long  as  a  dancing- 
hall  :  formerly  it  was  filled  with  clear  water,  and  the  sultanas 
bathed  here  ;  now  the  basin  is  used  as  a  walk.  A  door  that 
has  been  walled  up,  was  pointed  out  to  us  as  the  one  through 
which  the  Moorish  kings  entered  the  harem.  Here  thou- 
sands of  lamps  have  given  light,  but  still  more  brilliantly  the 
beautiful  eyes  have  shone.  "  Eyes  can  never  die  ! "  we  saw 
them  living  and  bright.  In  the  garden,  among  the  fresh, 
fragrant  roses,  a  pair  of  fine  eyes  beamed  upon  us,  as  a 
woman's  form  swept  past  us :  does  Maria  Padilla, 1  in  all  her 
loneliness,  wander  alive  here  again,  disappearing  in  a  side 
walk  to  return  again  in  a  new  form  ;  or  do  these  gardens  in 
reality  conceal  so  much  beauty,  that  one  form  after  another 
can  present  itself  before  you  ?  I  should  like  to  read  what  a 
warm,  enthusiastic  youthful  heart,  after  such  an  encounter, 
would  write,  if  not  in  verse,  at  least  in  prose  ;  truly  he  would 
write  :  "  One  burns,  one  dies,  one  never  shall  regain  one's 
home  ;  all  is  flame,  all  is  fire,  but  I  cannot  lay  it  into  the 
letter  ;  there  would  be  else  an  illumination  such  as  is  not 
known  at  home  !  " 

How  warm  it  is  here  !  We  still  experienced  the  summer  of 
the  South  in  the  garden  of  the  Alcazar ;  without  in  the  streets, 
you  were  obliged  to  seek  the  sunny  side  in  order  to  enjoy  the 
summer.  In  the  morning  and  evening  shade,  one  expe- 

1  The  celebrated  mistress  of  Pedro  I.;  her  portrait  hangs  among  the 
rows  of  Spanish  kings  and  queens  with  which  Philip  II.  had  one  of  the 
saloons  of  the  Alcazar  adorned. 


SEVILLA.  l6t 

nenced  the   chill   autumn  air ;  we  were,  however,  already  in 
November. 

Ah  well  !  we  are  in  November, 

And  yet  we  are  in  Spain  ; 
And  my  winter  dress  I  must  wear 

A  little  warmth  to  gain. 
Sevilla  !    Thy  brilliant  blue  skies, 

Thy  allees  of  orange-trees, 
Are  charming  to  look  upon,  but 

'Tis  not  so  pleasant  to  freeze. 
Yes  !  I  feel  that  the  air  is  cold  ; 

Wrapt  up  in  cloaks  are  those 
On  the  marble  benches  taking 

Their  rather  chill  repose- 
Not  one  do  I  happen  to  know  — 

Yet  I  do  not  repine  ; 
For  the  stars  of  my  distant  home 
'  Upon  me  here  still  shine. 

Of  my  far  away  father-land 

The  cold  reminds  me  much. 
Sevilla !  thou  dost  understand 

The  chords  of  love  to  touch ! 

This  was  written  on  a  cold  evening  ;  but  the  day  after  it 
was  warm,  so  warm,  that  at  home,  in  the  North,  it  would  have 
been  called  a  fine  summer's  day :  the  air  was  by  no  means 
oppressive  ;  lovely  weather,  we  would  say,  if  it  were  only  half 
as  pleasant. 

Sevilla  is  Murillo's  birthplace  ;  it  was  here  that  he  lived  and 
worked  chiefly.  Here  I  was  to  see  his  genius  and  power ;  a 
sunbeam  of  the  South  from  the  kingdom  of  inspiration.  Four- 
and-twenty  of  his  memorable  pictures  adorn  one  of  the  saloons 
of  the  Gallery  of  Art.  The  English  artist  John  Phillip,  and  the 
Swedish  painter  Lundgreen,  whose  acquaintance  we  had 
made,  escorted  us  to  the  academy.  We  passed  through  the 
school  for  design,  where  a  fragment  of  a  female  figure  is  pre- 
served ;  the  bust  remains  with  the  hands  crossed  over  the 
bosom,  but  so  splendidly  executed  that  it  served  as  a  study 
for  the  pupils.  A  whole  tragic  poem  might  be  written  in 
reference  to  this  mutilated  statue,  which  the  Italian  Torregiani 
had  formed.  He  and  Michael  Angelo  were  students  at  the 
same  time,  but  Torregiani  struck  Michael  Angelo  with  such 
force  upon  the  nose  with  a  stone  that  it  broke.  Torregiani 


1 62  IN  SPAIN. 

went  to  Spain,  aui  there  designed  a  Madonna,  which  he  after- 
ward chiseled  in  marble.  The  work  was  ordered  by  a  rich 
man  in  Sevilla  ;  but  when  it  was  completed,  he  would  not  pay 
for  it.  Then,  in  his  anger,  the  artist  dashed  the  statue  to  a 
thousand  pieces;  the  only  portion  that  remained  uninjured 
was  the  hand  which  was  on  the  breast  Now  although  it  was 
his  own  work  which  he  had  so  destroyed,  yet  it  was  also  the 
image  of  the  Madonna ;  therefore  the  Inquisition  seized  on 
him,  and  had  him  tortured  to  such  an  extent  that  he  died. 

The  Murillo  gallery  was  before  us.  What  treasures,  what 
beauty  !  Now  for  the  first  time  I  comprehended  the  greatness 
of  this  artist.  No  one  can  surpass  him.  The  sight  of  any 
one  of  these  pictures  is  thorough  enjoyment !  Here  is  the  "  As- 
sumption of  the  Virgin  Mary ;  "  we  see  the  woman,  lovely  and 
good  as  God  had  created  her  —  as  man  is  when  filled  with 
the  Spirit  of  his  Maker  —  borne  upward  by  holy  angels.  St. 
Francis  of  Assisi  taking  Christ  down  from  the  cross,  inspired 
us  with  the  awe  and  veneration  which  were  so  admirably  de- 
picted in  the  countenance  of  the  holy  man  ;  one  cannot  imag- 
ine how  such  perfection  can  possibly  be  conveyed  to  the  can- 
vas by  a  few  colors  alone.  On  the  wall  here  hangs  the 
well-known  picture,  the  "  Madonna  della  Servilleta,"  respecting 
the  origin  of  which  we  are  told  that  one  day  Murillo  was  dining 
with  the  monks  in  the  monastery  here,  and,  out  of  gratitude  for 
their  hospitality,  painted  for  them  the  Virgin  Mary  and  the 
infant  Christ ;  and  what  is  more,  he  painted  it  upon  the  nap- 
kin which  he  had  used  at  table,  hence  the  appellation  to 
the  picture.  Here  is  the  "Annunciation  of  the  Holy  Virgin  :  " 
the  Madonna  is  the  personification  of  a  beautiful  young  Span- 
iard ;  above  her  hovers  the  Holy  Ghost  in  the  form  of  a 
dove  ;  a  cherub  is  catching  at  the  dove,  as  if  he  would  make 
it  his  prisoner.  There  is  a  nai've  humor  throughout  the  whole 
painting  ;  all  the  little  angels  floating  round  about  portray  the 
wonderful  interest  which  the  child  of  earth  has  in  this  event. 
"  Hearest  thou  ?  "  the  one  cherub  seems  to  be  saying.  "  What 
is  it  that  is  coming  to  pass  ?  "  another  appears  to  say. 

There  were  two  most  beautiful  figures  of  holy  women  ;  St. 
Justa  and  St.  Rufina,  they  were  called,  I  believe  :  one  could 
have  fallen  in  love  with  them.  Forgive,  ye  holy  ones,  forgive 


SE  VILLA.  163 

the  Protestant  who  could  dare  to  breathe  such  a  thought ;  but 
these  two  are  truly  lovely  !  They  are  holding  fast  the  Giralda 
tower  of  Sevilla,  so  that  it  should  not  fall  during  an  earth- 
quake —  I  wish  they  held  me  fast. 

Then  came  "  John  the  Baptist  in  the  Wilderness,"  and  "  St. 
Thomas  distributing  Alms  ;  "  ah  !  it  is  a  true  blessing  to  contem- 
plate these  pictures.  One  picture,  however,  was  to  me  the 
most  beautiful  of  all,  and  I  returned  over  and  over  to  it, 
namely,  the  portrait  of  the  Saint  Antonius ;  he  is  repre- 
sented as  a  young  man  :  the  down  is  just  beginning  to  appear 
on  his  cheeks,  the  Holy  Scriptures  lie  open  before  him,  and 
upon  the  book  sits  the  child  Jesus,  smiling  joyously.  St.  An- 
tony is  bending  toward  the  child  ;  he  dares  not  touch  it  with 
his  hands  ;  his  countenance  is  beaming  with  an  expression  of 
fervor  and  joy  that  is  bliss  to  behold. 

One  more  picture  of  Murillo's  I  must  mention  among  the 
many  things  that  I  have  seen  here  which  never  can  be  forgot- 
ten. I  mean  his  representation  of  "  Moses  in  the  Wilder- 
ness :  "  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  church,  La  Caridad,  which  is 
attached  to  the  hospital  for  infirm  old  men,  that  was  founded 
by  Don  Juan l  Tenorio.  The  picture  is  a  very  fine  composi- 
tion, full  of  life  and  animation  ;  the  water  seems  gushing  forth. 
A  child  is  stooping  down  to  drink  ;  another,  somewhat  bigger, 
is  eagerly  waiting  to  refresh  himself  from  the  same  drinking- 
cup  ;  these  two  children  are  true  to  nature,  and  matchless  in 
beauty.  An  exceedingly  handsome  boy  is  sitting  upon  a 
mule.  I  can  never  forget  his  animated  countenance.  No  one 
surpasses  Murillo  in  painting,  true  to  nature,  the  lovely  forms 
of  children.  There  hangs  exactly  opposite  to  this,  and  of  the 
same  size,  another  picture  by  Murillo,  "  The  Miracle  of  the 
Loaves  and  Fishes."  I  was  not,  however,  able  to  see  it  well, 
because  an  artist  who  was  copying  it,  almost  entirely  hid  it  by 
his  large  scaffolding. 

In  one  corner  of  this  church  there  is  a  wonderful  work  by 
Baldez,  Murillo's  master  ;  it  represents  annihilation.  You  see 
an  archbishop  in  his  coffin  :  the  archbishop's  staff  is  broken  in 
two,  and  is  only  now  a  rotten  piece  of  wood  ;  the  body  has 
begun  to  be  decomposed,  and  this  is  so  truthfully  depicted 
1  Pronounced  Don  Kuan. 


164  IN  SPAIN. 

that  it  is  absolutely  disgusting.  It  is  related  of  Murillo  that 
every  time  he  passed  this  picture  he  held  his  nose,  so  faithfully 
was  the  corruption  copied. 

After  the  monks  of  the  monastery  La  Caridad  were  expelled, 
the  hospital  became  more  frequented,  and  pious  sisters  at- 
tended the  sick.  The  founder,  Don  Juan  Tenorio,  died  as 
a  monk  in  this  monastery,  and  also  reposes  here  ;  he  wrote 
his  own  epitaph  :  — 

Here  lies  the  worst  man  in  the  world  ! 

Tradition  tells  that  Don  Juan  Tenorio  was  a  gay  young  no- 
bleman in  Sevilla,  proud,  witty,  and  sensual  in  the  extreme :  he 
seduced  the  daughter  of  the  commandant,  killed  the  father, 
and  sank  in  his  ungodliness  into  the  infernal  abyss.  Another 
Spanish  tradition  calls  him  Don  Juan  de  Marafia,  and  terms 
him  one  of  the  most  wealthy  noblemen  of  Sevilla,  who  led  a 
wild  jovial  life,  passing  the  nights  in  bacchanalian  orgies,  and, 
in  his  licentious  insolence,  even  demanding  of  La  Giralda  to 
descend  from  the  tower  to  spend  a  night  with  him  ;  and  she 
moved  her  large  copper  wings,  they  whizzed  in  the  air,  she 
came  with  heavy  steps,  such  as  were  afterward  trodden  by  the 
marble  commandant.  But  one  midnight,  as  Don  Juan  was 
wending  his  way  home  through  the  deserted,  solitary  streets, 
suddenly  he  heard  music,  prolonged,  wailing  tones  :  he  saw 
the  flicker  of  torches  ;  a  numerous  funeral  procession  ap- 
proached ;  the  deceased  lay,  amidst  silver  and  silk,  upon  the 
open  bier.  "  Whom  are  they  burying  this  night  ? "  he  asked, 
and  the  answer  was,  "  Don  Juan  de  Marana/"  The  wind- 
ing-sheet was  raised,  and  Don  Juan  saw  his  own  form 
stretched  upon  the  bier.  A  deadly  terror  seized  him,  he  sank 
senseless  to  the  ground,  and  the  following  day  he  bequeathed 
all  his  wealth  to  the  monastery  La  Caridad,  entered  the  order 
of  monkhood,  and  was  thenceforth  known  as  one  of  the  most 
penitent,  pious  of  the  brothers.  The  names  Tenorio  and  Ma- 
rana, in  the  two  traditions,  mean  unquestionably  one  and  the 
same  person. 

The  Spanish  poet,  Tirso  de  Molina,  was  the  first  to  dram- 
atize the  tradition,  and  wrote  "  El  Burlador  de  Sevilla  y  Con- 
yidado  da  Piedra  ; "  in  this  piece  the  name  Don  Juan  Tenc- 


SEVILLA.  165 

rio  is  retained,  notwithstanding  a  member  of  that  family  is  still 
living.  The  drama  called  forth  many  copies  in  France  and 
Italy,  but  Moliere  was  the  first  to  bring  it  to  perfection  ;  later 
it  was  rewritten  for  Mozart's  opera,  which  immortalized  music 
will  preserve  the  story  of  Don  Juan  for  generations.  Even 
Tirso  gave  the  same  dramatic  ending  that  is  so  well  known  ; 
the  marble  statue  of  the  commandant  ascends  from  the  grave, 
and  approaches  the  house  ;  you  hear  that  there  is  a  knocking  ; 
the  servant  dares  not  open  the  door.  Don  Juan  seizes  a 
silver  branch,  and  goes  himself  to  receive  and  light  in  the 
stony  guest,  who  treads  with  heavy  marble  steps  into  the  din- 
ing-room. The  dead  man  was  entertained  with  ice,  with  jo- 
vial songs,  and  flippant  questions  about  the  other  world ;  on 
taking  his  leave  he  invited  Don  Juan  to  be  his  guest  the  fol- 
lowing night  in  the  chapel  of  the  burying-ground.  At  the 
appointed  hour  Don  Juan  and  his  terrified  servant  were  at 
the  rendezvous  ;  a  Satanic  repast  is  there  prepared,  —  "  scor- 
pions and  serpents,"  "  the  wine  of  the  bitterest  gall."  The 
pressure  of  the  stone  host's  hand  drew  the  seducer  into  the 
flames  of  the  bottomless  pit.  Don  Juan  sinks  with  the  dead 
man  down  through  the  earth.  The  horrified  servant  creeps 
upon  his  hands  and  knees  to  the  front  of  the  scene,  where  he 
exclaims  the  following :  — 

Almighty  Father  !  what  is  this  ? 
The  chapel  tomb  is  wrapt  in  flames  !  ' 
And  I  am  left  a  living  guard, 
Here,  only  with  the  dead  around  ! 
To  the  outer  air  I'll  creep  away, 
And  tidings  to  his  father  bear. 
Saint  George,  and  holy  Agnus  Dei, 
From  hence,  O  help  me  to  escape  ! 

In  the  church  La  Caridacl,  where  Don  Juan  de  Tenorio  once 
joined  in  pious  hymns  with  the  other  monks,  and  prayed  for 
his  heavily  laden  soul,  his  portrait  is  to  be  seen,  hanging  upon 
the  wall.  Passion  and  sorrow  are  depicted  in  every  feature 
of  his  face  ;  a  red  cross  is  marked  upon  his  black  garment. 
Beneath  his  portrait  is  suspended  the  sword  with  which  he 
killed  the  commandant,  Don  Gonzalo. 

From  La  Caridad,  and  its  pictures  and  memorials,  we  pro 


1 66  IN  SPAIN. 

ceeded  to  the  Pilati  House,  which  unquestionably  may  be 
reckoned  among  the  most  beautiful  objects  of  Sevilla.  This 
house  was  built  in  the  Middle  Ages  by  order  of  the  Duke  of 
Alcala,  and  is  said  to  be  an  exact  imitation  of  the  Roman  gov- 
ernor's house  at  Jerusalem.  Each  historical  spot  and  point  is 
reproduced,  even  to  the  marble  pillar  in  the  court  to  which  the 
Saviour  was  bound,  and  where  He  was  scourged.  The  whole 
building,  with  its  profusion  of  marble  and  porcelain,  reminds 
one  very  much  of  the  Alcazar.  In  each  corner  of  the  large 
entrance  court  are  placed  antique  marble  statues ;  in  other 
respects  the  garden  has  more  the  impression  of  solitude  and 
dreariness  than  of  the  romantic,  which  pervades  the  little 
Moorish  gardens  of  Malaga. 

One  building  has  yet  to  be  mentioned,  a  complete  town  in 
extent,  namely,  the  tobacco  manufactory :  it  sends  cigars  to 
every  part  of  smoking  Spain  ;  and  they  smoke  here  even  in  the 
theatres,  in  the  anterooms,  and  in  all  the  corridors ;  the  tobac- 
co-smoke even  penetrates  into  the  very  boxes.  From  the  manu- 
factory of  Sevilla,  snuff  is  scattered  over  the  whole  Peninsula ; 
five  hundred  individuals,  mostly  all  women,  work  in  this  vast 
snuff  manufactory.  I  did  not  see  them :  I  am  the  more  anx- 
ious, therefore,  to  recommend  them  to  all  other  travellers  who 
go  to  Sevilla.  "  Fine  eyes  are  to  be  seen  there,"  I  was  told. 
I  had  those  nearer  at  hand.  I  had  only  to  look  across  the 
street  and  gaze  at  my  lovely  neighbor. 

"  Those  who  have  not  seen  Sevilla,  have  not  seen  a  won- 
der," is  a  Spanish  saying,  and  there  is  always  some  truth  in 
the  proverbs  and  phrases  of  a  people.  If  Sevilla  were  situated 
where  Cadiz  lies,  on  the  open,  rolling  sea,  it  would  be  a  Span- 
ish Venice,  and,  moreover,  a  living  Venice,  a  wonder,  of  the 
first  rank,  far  exceeding  all  other  cities  of  the  world  in  poetry 
and  beauty,  even  though  other  cities  had  ever  such  grand 
shops  and  palaces,  wide  streets,  and  every  advantage  that  a 
good  magistrate  could  possibly  effect. 

In  Paris  you  run  about  looking  at  the  shops  until  you  are 
quite  weary :  it  may  be  all  very  amusing,  but  it  is  just  like 
being  in  a  treadmill,  looking  and  staring  about  you  eter- 
nally ;  the  time  passes  quickly,  you  return  home  fatigued  to 


SE  VILLA.  l6; 

death,  and  have  gained  nothing  by  it.  It  is  quite  different  in 
Sevilla :  streets  are  narrower,  and  you  are  not  almost  blinded 
by  the  shops ;  houses  and  farms  have  nothing  peculiar  about 
them,  always  whitewashed  in  the  same  insipid  fashion :  it  is 
very  much  the  same  with  them  as  with  human  beings :  out- 
wardly one  resembles  the  other,  but  inwardly —  ah,  there  is  the 
ditto rence ;  there  dwells  what  you  learn  to  prize  more  than  the 
exterior  form.  Wander  through  the  streets  of  Sevilla,  and 
glance  in  at  the  doors  and  gates :  they  are  not  closed.  El 
patio,  as  the  little  court-yard  is  called,  that  displays  to  us  the 
heart  as  well  as  the  countenance  of  its  inhabitants,  for  it  re- 
veals to  us  their  taste.  In  one  court  you  see  a  lovely  statue, 
in  another  a  large  ingeniously  carved  well ;  at  a  neighbor's, 
perhaps,  is  erected  a  Moorish  hall,  with  artistic  ornaments  in 
stucco-work.  Let  us  go  now  immediately  across  the  street : 
there  lies  a  palace-like  structure,  the  court-yard  of  which  is  a 
complete  garden  of  roses,  with  fountains  and  statuettes ;  the 
small  house  attached  to  it  has,  it  is  true,  only  one  narrow  door, 
leading  to  a  very  diminutive  interior,  but  what  a  gorgeous  dis- 
play of  flowers  they  have,  and  to  what  a  height  their  solitary 
palm-tree  has  grown  !  Now  we  stand  before  a  larger  build- 
ing ;  the  court  is  surrounded  by  arcades,  three  stories  high,  sup- 
ported by  columns,  and  decorated  by  paintings  in  oils.  Thus 
it  goes  on,  change  about.  There  is  someth'ng  very  charming 
and  attractive  to  go  from  house  to  house,  to  peep  in  upon  the  fam- 
ily, and  become  acquainted  with  the  poetry  of  their  daily  life. 

Now,  late  in  November,  there  was  no  longer  the  animation 
and  bustle  which  generally  characterize  this  place.  One 
should  come  to  Sevilla  in  the  spring,  at  the  time  when  the 
flowers  are  in  perfection,  or  in  the  heat  of  Summer ;  then  the 
home  life  and  customs  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  south  can  be 
studied,  for  even  the  most  insignificant  patio  presents  a  picture 
of  domestic  life.  Here  the  people  pass  the  whole  day ;  a  large 
awning  is  stretched  high  up  over  the  court,  or  a  grape-vine 
forms  a  thick  roof  with  its  broad  shade-giving  leaves.  The 
family  and  servants  sit  under  these,  working  and  chatting,  or 
reclining  in  dreamy  luxury.  Thus  they  spend  the  long  warm 
day  in  the  open  air,  seeking  only  their  chambers  late  in  the 
evening  to  sleep  in. 


1 68  IN  SPAIN. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  South  require  shade  and  coolness, 
and  Sevilla  is  not  wanting  in  these  two  things.  The  Alameda, 
along  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquiver,  is  the  most  frequented. 
Here  poplars  and  plane-trees  cast  their  shade,  water  displays 
its  power  in  jets-d'eaux  and  cascades,  and  cools  the  air  amidst 
the  blooming  hedges.  Crowds  are  moving  backward  and 
forward  in  carriages,  on  foot,  or  on  horseback,  gazing  at  each 
other,  or  watching  the  numerous  vessels  beyond  the  bulwarks, 
coming  —  some  from  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  and  others  from  the 
Mediterranean  Sea.  Here,  in  the  direction  of  the  river,  lies 
the  octangle  La  Torro  del  Oro,  where  formerly  the  Moorish 
kings  kept  their  treasures,  and  from  whence,  says  tradition,  a 
subterranean  passage  leads  to  the  Alcazar.  An  enormous 
bridge  across  the  river  conducts  over  to  the  suburb  Triana, 
where  many  gypsies  were  to  be  met.  Yonder  were  situated 
the  old  terror-inspiring  prisons  of  the  Inquisition  ;  they  are 
now,  I  was  told,  converted  into  store-houses  for  wine  and 
spirits.  Orange-groves  encircled  the  shining  white  houses 
and  their  beautiful  inmates.  I  came  out  as  far  as  this.  Cas- 
tanets were  sounding,  and  young  damsels  were  dancing  most 
gracefully,  and  with  all  the  spirit  of  youth. 

In  Sevilla,  as  in  Malaga,  the  national  dances  are  to  be  seen 
by  paying ;  the  subordinate  portion  of  the  corps  de  ballet  give 
these  entertainments.  Fate  did  not  permit  that  I  should 
witness  Spanish  dancing  in  a  Spanish  theatre  ;  still  I  saw  it 
upon  the  highways,  in  the  gardens,  and  in  the  saloons  erected 
for  the  people  to  dance  in,  where  the  dancers  of  the  ballet 
mingled  among  them. 

"  Yonder  dances  the  lovely  Dolores,"  said  one  of  my  young 
Spanish  friends  ;  "  you  must  see  Dolores,  and  you  will  be- 
come as  young  as  I  am,  as  gay  as  I  am,  and  perhaps  as 
happy  as  I  am,"  and  he  looked  as  if  he  really  were  very 
happy. 

What  a  vast  difference  there  is  between  French  and  Span- 
ish dancing !  We  admit  that  Paris  represents  France  ;  the 
cancan  is  the  characteristic  dance  of  Paris,  hence  of  France. 
It  is  so  unceremonious,  so  free  ;  it  recalls  to  mind  the  bat> 
ihanalian  dances,  but  the  bacchantes  are  like  plastic  figures 
with  their  puffed-out  hair  :  the  grisettes,  these  cancan  virtu- 


SEVILLA.  169 

osas,  appear  before  us  in  long  dresses,  such  as  they  wear  in 
the  streets  ;  the  dresses  must  be  raised  so  that  they  may  be 
able  to  move  their  limbs,  and  now  begin  wild  movements 
portraying  Paris  life  —  springing,  bounding,  and  coquetting. 
She  who  can  swing  her  leg  highest  over  the  head  of  her  cav- 
alier, is  the  best  cancan  dancer,  the  bacchante  of  the  moment. 
The  Spanish  dance,  on  the  contrary,  permits  the  beauty  of 
the  human  form  to  be  seen  in  its  natural  movements,  the  cas- 
tanets playing  in  unison  with  the  beating  of  the  pulse :  this 
can  swell  into  passion,  but  never  oversteps  the  boundary  of 
the  beautiful.  The  Graces  might  look  on  at  these  dances 
when  they  would  fly  from  the  Mcenades.  Venus  herself 
might  join  in  a  Spanish  dance  ;  but  the  cancan  she  would 
never  try,  not  even  if  General  Mars  were  to  invite  her. 
•  Dolores  was  lovely  !  as  if  she  had  sprung  out  of  one  of 
Murillo's  pictures  ;  the  same  beautiful  shoulders,  the  full, 
rounded  arms,  the  small,  pretty  feet !  Yes,  she  was  charming, 
but  her  head  was  her  greatest  charm.  Diamonds  sparkled  in 
her  eyes,  sunbeams  in  every  smile  ;  a  coquette,  a  little  demon 
of  passion,  and  yet  so  heavenly  !  "  A  child,"  said  my  young 
Spaniard,  and  he  was  both  a  man  and  a  child  while  speaking 
of  her ;  I  understood  him  quite  well ;  I  can  express  his 
thoughts  :  — 

Like  a  rose  she  is,  so  fresh  and  so  sweet,  — 
A  living  rose,  in  which  red  and  white  meet. 
Before  me  she  shines  like  the  mountain's  snow ; 
In  her  eyes  the  tints  of  the  heaven  glow  : 
But  well  do  I  know  that  her  heaven  is 
The  same  as  the  Moslem  looks  on  as  his. 
A  houri  she  is,  yet  a  fiend  in  heart ; 
Delightful,  yet  acting  a  demon's  part. 
She  gazes  at  me  with  her  sparkling  eyes, 
Before  these  warm  glances  all  prudence  flies. 
They  tell  me,  in  tones  that  float  on  the  air,  — 
Life's  minutes  enjoy,  pluck  its  flowerets  fair  : 
Think'st  thou  a  demon  man's  feelings  could  share  ? 

In  the  garden  of  the  Venta,  filled  with  fruit-trees,  and  bril- 
liant with  roses  and  geraniums,  there  was  singing,  dancingf 
and  chatting  going  on  ;  the  language  sounded  like  music,  the 
castanets  struck  the  rhythm  to  it.  In  the  Alameda  galloped 


170 


'IN  SPAIA?. 


elegant  gentlemen  upon  splendid  Andalusian  horses ;  open 
carriages  with  handsome  ladies  drove  past ;  young  girls 
glided  along  upon  their  small,  well-shaped  feet  beneath  the 
plane-trees  ;  young  men  met  them,  stopped,  or  followed  them , 
the  stranger  alone  passed  in  silence,  and,  although  amidst  a 
crowd,  in  solitude. 

Ah,  were  there  but  one  single  tongue, 

One  language  all  could  understand, 
Over  earth's  wide  compass  spoken, 

From  South  to  North's  most  distant  land  ! 
Oft  is  this  said  ;  but  do  thou  go 

To  Andalusia's  lovely  vales, 
And  thou  wilt  find  one  language  there 

In  eye  and  pulse  alone  prevails- 

Only  in  Malaga  and  Granada  have  I  seen  so  much  beauty 
as  here.  Without  it,  without  all  these  brilliant  eyes,  very 
probably  it  would  have  felt  colder  in  Sevilla,  May  one  not 
say  so  ? 

It  is  found  quite  proper,  nay,  quite  pretty  too, 

When  I  sing  about  swans,  their  songs  and  their  hue  ; 

Of  the  swelling  ocean  ;  the  stars  so  bright ; 

Of  creation's  wonders,  its  beauty,  its  might : 

But  if,  from  my  heart,  I  should  pour  forth  a  strain 

In  praise  of  the  beautiful  houris  of  Spain, 

Should  descant  on  their  eyes,  their  figures,  their  feet, 

Then  hints  of  decorum  and  cold  looks  I  meet 

In  the  garden  of  Eden,  which  Spain  stands  near  — 

Much  the  loveliest  there  did  not  Eve  appear  ? 

For  all  the  bright  gifts  bestowed  from  above, 

My  heart  would  its  gratitude  utter,  and  love. 

If  you  do  not  care  for  verse,  perhaps  you  prefer  comedies  ? 
Well !  let  us  go  to  the  theatre.  Sevilla  possesses  two  large 
theatres.  We  went  to  Teatro  de  San  Fernando.  The  build- 
ing is  light  and  cheerful-looking  in  the  interior ;  it  has  four 
tiers  and  high  pit  stalls.  Two  representations  are  daily  given ; 
one  commences  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  the  other  at 
eight  in  the  evening.  I  saw  the  latter  ;  a  zarzuela  in  two  acts 
was  given,  entitled  "Llamada  y  Tropa."  By  zarzuela  is 
meant  a  sort  of  vaudeville ;  it  approaches,  however,  more  to 
what  we  call  an  operetta,  but  frequently,  by  the  various  grand 
airs>  which  are  introduced,  approaches  an  opera.  The  music 


SE  VILLA.  171 

was  by  the  Spaniard  Arrieta  —  a  very  prolific  composer,  as  it 
appeared,  for  most  of  the  Spanish  operas  bore  his  name. 
The  music  was  lively — rather  Frenchified  Spanish  music; 
castanets  and  national  songs  were  introduced  ;  the  dialogue 
was  verse,  and  the  pith  of  the  piece  consisted  in  thirty  "  ninos 
del  asilo,"  that  is  to  say,  charity  children,  real  charity  children 
of  Sevilla,  making  their  appearance  and  singing  a  comic 
chorus.  They  executed  their  parts  well,  and  so  the  public 
threw  them  a  profusion  of'bonbons  ;  they  scrambled  for  them, 
picking  them  up  with  the  most  amusing  eagerness.  The  pub- 
lic cried,  "  Da  capo,"  the  chorus  was  repeated,  and  another 
shower  of  bonbons  followed,  which  of  course  did  away  with 
all  the  illusion,  though  it  was  very  comical. 

The  nineteenth  of  November  was  the  saint's  day  of  the  reign- 
•ing  Queen  Isabella,  and  by  order  of  the  authorities  it  was 
kept  in  Sevilla.  Military  music  was  heard  in  the  streets  ;  the 
balcony  of  the  Senate  House  was  hung  with  bright,  gold- 
fringed  drapery,  and  above  this  was  placed  the  portrait  of  the 
Queen,  in  a  large  gilt  frame  ;  two  soldiers,  real  living  men,  were 
ordered  to  stand  here,  with  their  muskets  in  their  hands, 
without  moving,  more  than  an  hour,  to  represent  wooden  fig- 
ures. I  had  already  seen  in  Granada  this  kind  of  portrait 
tableau  ;  here  the  same  torturing  exhibition  was  repeated.  The 
sun  shone  full  upon  the  faces  of  the  two  unfortunate  fellows, 
who  dared  not  move  a  limb,  and  scarcely  dared  wink  their  eye- 
lids. This  was  the  ceremony  ;  Spain  adheres  to  its  old  customs. 
Before  taking  my  departure  from  Sevilla  I  must  once  more 
visit  the  Alcazar,  and  the  never-to-be-forgotten  cathedral, 
which,  in  its  vastness,  makes  a  much  more  deep  impression 
than  that  of  St.  Peter  at  Rome.  At  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon  the  train  started.  The  sun  cast  its  summer-like  rays  upon 
the  gay  town.  Black,  beautiful  eyes  afforded  ample  materials 
for  sonnets ;  pretty  children  were  there.  In  the  North  people 
say,  "  Children  must  not  play  with  the  fire ! "  the  Andalusian 
lasses  do  it,  however,  and  I  — 

I  am  like  water  —  water  deep, 

Into  which  all  can  clearly  see  ; 
And  I  have  learned  in  Southern  lands 

A  Southerner  myself  to  be- 


172 


IN  SPAIN. 

Here  prudish  stiffness  wears  away 

Where  every  one  is  frank  and  free ; 
Like  fireworks,  feeling  blazes  here  — 
Homeward  'twere  well  thy  course  to  steer : 
Although  thy  youth  is  past,  still  flee  1 


And  we  drive  away  1 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

CORDOVA.1 

THE  journey  from  Sevilla  to  Cordova  was  performed  fai 
more  quickly  by  the  River  Xenil,  past  the  sun-scorched 
Ecija,  than  it  could  have  been  done  by  diligence  or  on  horse- 
back. One  of  the  last  travellers  in  Spain,  Theophile  Gautier, 
has  described  the  appearance  of  this  town  as  if  it  belonged  to 
•  China  or  Japan ;  we  had  all  the  desire  to  go  there,  but  we 
were  not  able  to  accomplish  it.  The  railway  follows  its  direct 
route  ;  it  crosses  the  old  high  road,  and  will  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  it.  Ecija  never  had  at  any  time  a  very  good 
name  ;  most  of  the  tales  of  attacks  which  my  countrymen  re- 
lated to  us,  had  happened  to  them  on  this  road.  Here,  for  ex- 
ample, not  many  years  ago,  the  Danish  architect,  Professor 
Meldahl,  was  plundered.  The  robbers  even  took  his  sketch- 
book from  him. 

"  Give  me  back  the  book  at  least,"  said  our  countryman ; 
'*  it  can.  be  of  no  use  to  you,  whereas  it  is  most  valuable  to  me." 
And  the  robber  who  had  seized  the  book  did  not  belie  Span- 
ish civility,  but  returned  it  to  him  at  once. 

The  railway  train  rushed  onward  in  the  dark  evening ;  here 
and  there  we  beheld,  in  front  of  a  solitary  hut  close  to  the  rail- 
road, a  large,  blazing  fire  ;  men,  women,  and  children  were 
seated  round  it :  they  laughed  and  made  signs  to  us ;  very 
probably  they  were  saying,  how  much  more  pleasant  it  was 
here  a  few  years  ago,  when  the  heavy,  loitering  diligence  went 
at  a  snail's  pace  along  the  deserted  roads ;  when  brave  men 
could,  with  ease,  do  a  good  stroke  of  business  for  themselves ; 
the  horses  would  be  stopped,  pistols  brought  forth,  knives 
would  flash,  and  a  brave  man  would  get  gold  and  effects 
Those  times  were  past  now ! 

J  The  Spaniards  write  and  read  Cordoba,  not  CordovX. 


174 


IN  SPAIN. 


It  was  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening  before  we  reached  Cor- 
dova,  the  birthplace  of  Seneca.  All  the  travellers  who  were 
going  to  the  town  were  packed  into  the  only  omnibus  which 
was  waiting  at  the  station  ;  how  we  found  places,  the  Lord  and 
the  coachman  alone  know.  The  luggage  was  piled  up  on  the 
top  of  the  carriage ;  it  was  a  strange  assemblage  of  articles ; 
the  omnibus  creaked  and  groaned  beneath  its  burden.  The 
men  sat  within,  one  upon  the  lap  of  the  other  ;  almost  all  had 
either  a  package,  an  umbrella,  or  a  bundle  to  carry ;  we  were 
stowed  away  together  as  if  we  were  in  a  press.  There  was  no 
lantern  to  the  carriage,  and  none  along  the  road,  which  was 
just  as  nature  had  made  it.  The  street  into  which  we  drove 
was  so  narrow  that  no  human  being  could  have  stood  or 
walked  in  it  when  our  omnibus  was  passing ;  and  finally  it 
contracted  so  much  that  we  ourselves  could  go  no  further. 
The  omnibus  stopped,  and  we  were  all  squeezed  out  of  the 
door  opening,  very  much  in  the  fashion  that  artists  press  their 
oil  colours  out  of  the  tubes  —  it  seemed  so,  at  least. 

The  street  ended  in  a  narrow  path,  between  high  houses  ;  the 
coachman  pointed  to  it  as  the  way  to  reach  the  Fonda  Ricci, 
the  largest  hotel  of  the  town.  We  stumbled  along  by  the  light 
of  a  lantern,  which  was  visible  at  the  extremity  of  the  path. 
We  reached  our  destination  at  length ;  the  portico  was  bril- 
liantly lighted,  and  beyond,  as  in  Sevilla,  we  saw  a  large,  hand- 
some court,  filled  with  roses  and  geraniums,  with  sparkling 
fountains,  and  surrounded  with  arcades  supported  by  marble 
pillars,  and  polished  steps  covered  with  red  matting.  Our 
rooms  were  lofty  and  airy,  but  they  had  no  fire-places,  and  it 
was  cold,  bitterly  cold.  A  brazero —  a  fire-box  filled  with  glow- 
ing coals  —  was  brought  up  to  warm  the  apartments  while  we 
were  down-stairs,  in  the  salle-a-manger.  A  quantity  of  people 
were  congregated  here,  all  of  whom  were  going  by  the  dili- 
gence to  Madrid  the  same  night.  It  was  an  extraordinary 
assemblage  of  cripples  and  decrepit  old  men  ;  one  coughed, 
another  limped,  a  third  groaned,  and  a  fourth  squinted.  They 
would  have  served  as  models  for  the  artist  who  wished  to 
paint  the  parable  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven  likened  unto  the 
king  who  sent  his  armies  to  destroy  the  invited  guests  who 
would  not  come  to  his  son's  wedding,  and,  when  the  wedding- 


CORDOVA.  175 

feast  was  ready,  sent  his  servants  out  into  the  highways  to 
gather  together  all  that  they  could  find,  both  bad  and  good  : 
here  were  subjects  for  a  humorous  painter ! 

"  Such  people  should  stay  at  home  and  not  travel,"  said  the 
waiter  to  us,  when  the  invalids  from  the  hospital  departed,  and 
we  took  our  places  at  table. 

During  the  government  of  the  Moors,  Cordova  was  the  capi- 
tal ;  the  city  had  a  million  of  inhabitants,  six  hundred  mosques, 
and  a  hundred  public  bathing-houses.  Art  and  science  flour- 
ished here,  and  now  —  how  different !  You  find  here  misera- 
ble, narrow,  depopulated  streets.  Cordova  has  sunk  down  to 
an  insignificant  town.  In  some  small  rooms  I  saw  hanging  up 
a  few  pieces  of  corduan,  —  Cordova's  celebrated  leather.  At 
the  meat  market  there  were  still  remaining  some  traces  of  the 
ancient  splendor ;  the  walls  of  the  booths  still  retained  the 
porcelain  flag  covering  from  the  time  of  the  Moors.  Through 
solitary  lanes  with  low,  white  houses,  we  found  our  way  to  the 
Alameda,  which,  with  its  lofty,  aged  trees,  followed  the  course 
of  the  Guadalquivir.  The  river  was  as  yellow  as  the  waters 
of  the  Tiber ;  it  was  a  deep,  rapid  stream. 

All  the  life  and  traffic  upon  this  long  Alameda  was  limited 
to  one  old  woman,  who  was  carrying,  with  an  air  of  impor- 
tance, a  large  earthen  jar  across  the  promenade  down  some 
steps  to  the  river ;  there  sat  three  or  four  men  upon  the  remains 
of  a  wall  in  the  water,  holding  fishing-rods,  patiently  waiting 
for  a  bite.  At  the  extremity  of  the  Alameda  there  are  the 
ruins  of  an  ancient  monastery,  and  the  church  attached  to  it; 
the  walls  have  pictures,  on  sacred  subjects,  painted  on  them. 
The  cracked  walls  look  as  if  they  could  scarcely  bear  the 
heavy  stone  images  of  saints.  I  was  told  that  during  the  per- 
secution of  the  monks  in  1835,  this  monastery  was  stormed ; 
the  picture  of  desolation  which  the  ruins  present,  brought 
vividly  to  my  mind  all  those  fearful,  bloody  scenes  which  were 
then  enacted,  when  the  populace  drove  the  monks  back  into 
the  burning  monastery,  and  demoniacal  women  fed  the  flames, 
and  hindered  the  prisoners  from  escaping. 

From  the  Alameda  the  view  extends  over  the  broad,  charm- 
mg  river  to  an  immense  campagna  beyond,  and  fruitful  rising 
pround  ;  here  olive-groves  stretch  themselves  ;  here  and  there 


1  ^6  IN  SPAIN*. 

a  palm  rears  its  lofty  head ;  yonder,  in  the  distance,  appear 
the  ruins  of  a  large  castle  as  if  sketched  on  the  horizon.  To 
ward  the  north,  behind  the  city,  tower  the  mountains  of  the 
Sierra  Morena,  dark  and  threatening  ;  the  air  was  heavy  and 
laden  with  clouds.  They  had  not  had  rain  in  Sevilla  for  five 
months  ;  now  the  rain  was  beginning  to  fall  in  Cordova,  and 
probably  also  would  favor  Sevilla. 

Cordova  possesses  a  treasure  which  no  other  Spanish  town 
can  rival,  namely,  its  vast  and  wonderful  mosque,  now  con- 
verted into  a  cathedral ;  it  is  situated  in  the  same  direction  as 
the  Alameda,  and  presents  one  of  its  sides  toward  the  Gua- 
dalquivir :  it  covers  an  immense  square  area,  though  in  its  ex- 
terior there  is  nothing  surprising,  picturesque,  or  grand.  The 
orange-grove  in  the  front,  with  its  trees  planted  in  allies,  and 
its  fresh,  rippling  waters,  is  wide  and  extensive  ;  here  the  high 
clock  tower  rises  opposite  the  church  itself,  from  whose  piazza 
door  after  door  leads  into  the  mighty  house  of  God,  which  was 
built  by  Abd-ur-Rhaman  I.  Not  less  than  one  thousand  and 
eighty  marble  pillars  support  the  roof:  it  looks  like  a  complete 
plantation  of  pillars,  arranged  in  alleys,  side  by  side,  and  cross- 
ing each  other  ;  then  there  are  lower  aisles,  pillars,  and  arches 
innumerable,  and  along  the  outer  wall  altar  after  altar.  Twi- 
light reigns  here  even  in  the  brightest  of  days  ;  through  this  you 
penetrate  to  the  centre  of  the  edifice,  where,  in  the  time  of  the 
Moors,  thousands  and  thousands  of  lamps  always  burned, 
beneath  the  marvelously  carved  ceiling.  Now  this  is  de- 
stroyed, and  a  lofty  white  plastered,  richly  gilt  Christian  church 
has  been  erected,  into  which  the  full  glare  of  day  falls  upon 
the  gorgeous  altar,  before  which  censers  are  waved  and  masses 
are  sung,  that  resound  and  echo  through  the  Mooiish  arches 
where  the  altars  stand,  and  where  chapels  have  been  raised 
to  the  memory  of  those  who  die  in  the  only  saving  faith.  One 
of  my  friends,  when  describing  the  Cathedral  of  Cordova,  lik- 
ened it  to  a  dense  fir-forest,  that  had  been  cleared  in  the  mid- 
dle, and  tall  beech-trees  planted  for  the  choir  of  the  church. 
In  one  of  the  side  chapels  was  a  bed,  with  a  sick  person  in  it ; 
he  was  waiting  to  be  healed,  or  to  be  released  by  God.  Upon 
the  walls  are  still  discernible  gold  and  colored  Arabic  inscrip- 
tions, such  as  "  Praise  and  glory  and  eternal  honor  be  to  God 


CORDOVA.  177 

and  his  prophet  Mohammed."  The  chiseled  lace-like  orna- 
mental work  above  the  low  doors  toward  the  Guadalquivir  re- 
mind one  of  the  Alcazar  and  the  Alhambra.  During  the  rule 
of  the  Mussulman  sacred  relics  were  preserved  here ;  among 
these  was  a  very  ancient  manuscript  of  the  Koran,  and  the 
right  arm  of  the  prophet  Mohammed.  The  pious  among  the 
faithful  approach  this  spot  only  creeping  upon  their  knees  ; 
this  is,  however,  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  whole  build- 
ing, because  it  has  retained  its  original  beauty. 

While  from  the  high  altar  hymns  of  praise  are  chanted  to 
Jesus  and  the  Virgin  Mary,  the  walls  are  preaching  in  Arabic 
characters,  "  There  is  only  one  God,  and  Mohammed  is  his 
prophet!"  The  whole  edifice  makes  a  strange,  jumbled  im- 
pression, which  can  only  be  effaced  by  tolerance  and  faith  in 
the  sacred  verse  :  — 

We  all  believe  in  one  God. 

Moses  wrote  upon  the  tables  of  the  law.  God  is  the  only 
true  God,  and  He  leads  His  people  ;  and  the  prophets  speak 
by  His  spirit,  and  by  His  will.  From  the  race  of  Ishmael 
came  a  new  prophet :  he  came  with  fire  and  the  sword  ;  cities 
were  given  up  to  the  flames ;  his  name  he  dared  to  write 
where  no  mortal's  name  should  have  been  written  :  There  is 
only  one  God,  and  Mohammed  is  his  prophet !  The  only  true 
God  has  chosen  for  himself  one  peculiar  people  !  This  is  the 
faith  of  the  Jew  and  of  the  Mussulman.  Christ  says  :  God 
became  man  to  be  a  ransom  for  all.  The  Christian's  faith  is 
for  every  nation  and  for  every  time ;  praised  be  God  in  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ ! 

Here,  in  this  mighty  Cathedral  of  Cordova,  once  the  faithful 
Mussulmen  shouted,  in  their  exultation,  "  La  illah  ilallah  !  "  ' 
now  the  devout  followers  of  the  "  Church  which  alone  has  the 
power  to  save  "  kneel  in  prayer,  and  feel  themselves  exalted 
and  redeemed  by  their  "  Stabat  Mater  Dolorosa  ; "  the  Protes- 
tant is  to  them  a  stranger,  an  inquisitive  traveller,  a  being  lost 
to  alt"  eternity.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  whole  of  mankind's 
search  after  "  the  one  true  God,"  according  to  their  own  short- 
sightedness, their  vanity,  passion,  or  coldness,  had  been  and 

1  There  is  no  God  but  God. 
12 


178  IN  SPAIN. 

still  is  concentrated  within  these  walls.  Pious,  soothing 
thoughts  filled  my  spirit  and  my  heart  while  I  lingered  here. 

How  harshly,  how  uncharitably,  Christian  brothers  judge 
each  other !  "  Catholicism  is  a  shell  without  a  kernel,"  say 
the  Protestants,  while  again  the  faithful,  zealous  Catholic  will 
not  acknowledge  Protestantism  to  possess  either  shell  or  ker- 
nel ;  we  are  lost,  irretrievably  lost !  How  harshly,  how  un- 
charitably, brethren  of  the  same  church  and  faith  judge  each 
other,  when  this  one  does  not  agree  to  the  very  letter  with  the 
profession  of  the  other !  It  would  appear  as  if  that  inexpli- 
cable mystery  of  God  Himself  taking  upon  Him  the  form  of 
man  were  the  whole  sense  of  religion,  and  not  the  doctrine  it- 
self, that  blessed  fountain  of  truth  flowing  from  the  Supreme 
Being ! 

Certainly  there  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  times  a  craving  to  use 
the  sword  in  matters  of  faith  ;  they  wish  to  strike  with  the 
sword,  as  they  now  hurl  forth  the  words,  "  Thou  art  not  a 
Christian  !  "  How  little  do  we  know  of  the  life  which  is  in  ac- 
tive motion  down  in  the  depths  of  the  sea,  though  the  plumb- 
line  can  fathom  the  space !  and  yet  people  pretend  to  discern 
and  to  judge  the  religious  sentiments  buried  in  the  depths  of 
the  hearts  of  their  fellow-men,  where  no  plumb-line  can  be 
cast.  "Judge  not,  and  ye  shall  not  be  judged  ;  condemn  not, 
and  ye  shall  not  be  condemned." 

Eternal  God  !  all  mercy  as  Thou  art, 

O  deign  my  feeble  steps  to  truth  to  guide, 
And  let  Thy  holy  light  shine  on  my  heart ! 

Grant  me  all  sinful  thoughts  to  cast  aside, 
And  to  hold  fast  the  faith  that  Scriptures  teach  ! 

That  Thou  alone  art  God  —  make  me  believe, 
And  that  Thine  only  Son  came  down  to  preach 

The  saving  doctrines  some  would  not  receive. 
Teach  me  in  Him  to  live,  in  Him  to  die, 

So  that  my  soul  a  brighter  home  may  claim 
Among  the  hosts  of  Christendom  on  high  ! 

Honor  and  glory  to  Thy  holy  name  ! 

F;om  this  thought-inspiring,  awe-impressing  sanctuary,  one 
comes  out  upon  the  Guadalquivir  ;  a  stupendous  old  Roman 
bridge  leads  over  the  river;  down  in  the  very  water  itself  still 
stand  ruins  of  Moorish  bridges  and  buildings.  The  yellow 


CORDOVA.  179 

waters  rush  through  and  over  these  silent  reminiscences.  The 
spirit  of  destruction  has  swept  across  them,  more  swift  in  do- 
ing its  work  than  the  process  of  decay  itself.  We  wandered 
upward  amidst  masses  of  rubbish,  where  trees  growing  wild 
and  hedges  spread  themselves  like  a  veil  of  forgetfulness  over 
vanished  greatness  and  beauty.  Here  lay  the  splendid  Alca- 
zar of  the  Moorish  kings,  with  its  finely  cut  marble  pillars, 
lovely  rose-gardens,  and  gushing  waters.  Here  echoed  again 
song  and  stringed  instruments  ; 1  here  bass  drums,  flutes,  and 
trumpets  have  resounded ;  here  days  and  evenings  of  festivi- 
ties were  enjoyed.  Forms  of  beauty  glided  through  these 
halls,  out  amidst  the  fresh  fragrant  roses,  and  the  fan-like 
palm-trees.  All  this  splendor  and  loveliness  vanished  away 
like  glorious  clouds  ;  darkness  and  anguish  followed  ;  Spain's 
Inquisition  established  itself  within  these  halls,  walled  up  the 
light  airy  casements,  placed  instruments  of  torture  there  where 
formerly  soft  cushions  were  spread  ;  the  agonizing  screams  of 
the  victims  who  were  being  tortured  to  death,  echoed  there 
where  the  lute  had  sounded,  accompanied  by  sweet  touching 
voices.  The  balls  and  bombs  of  the  French  soldiers  battered 
down  these  walls  ;  the  wild  growing  hedges  and  the  ancient 
trees  were  crushed  and  burned  ;  a  mass  of  ruins  and  rubbish 
was  all  that  remained  of  its  past  greatness. 

The  Guadalquivir's  yellow  clay-colored  stream  flowed  be- 
tween ruins  and  Rudera :  if  it  could  but  display  to  us  the 
changing  scenes  which  have  been  reflected  in  its  mirror  sur- 
face, how  it  would  shine  with  the  Moorish  kings'  rows  of 
festive  lamps,  with  their  flambeaux  and  bonfires  !  and  would  it 
not  be  dyed  with  the  blood  of  the  dead  floating  down  its  tran- 
quil stream  ?  Much  would  we  behold  that  would  fill  us  with 
horror  ! 

Was  it  chance,  or  is  it  characteristic  of  that  musical  town 
Cordova,  which,  in  the  time  of  the  Moors,  founded  a  large 
school  for  music,  that  here  not  a  song  was  to  be  heard,  no  cas- 
tanets sounded,  no  dancing  was  to  be  seen  ;  dreary  and  de- 
serted it  seemed  to  be  here.  A  solitary  sefiora,  with  her  prayer- 

1  The  Moors  accompanied  their  music  with  a  lute  ;  a  number  of  theii 
melodies  are  collected  and  preserved  by  Ali-ben-Alhassani-ben-Mohammed 


l8o  IN  SPAIN. 

book  in  her  hand,  hastened  through  the  narrow  streets  to 
ward  the  ancient  cathedral,  Cordova's  glory  and  pride. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  town  there  is  a  small  church :  this 
also  was  once  a  Moorish  mosque  ;  it  is  now  consecrated  to  St. 
Nicholas :  the  spire  is  remarkable ;  it  is  the  untouched  old 
minaret,  —  doubtless  the  only  one  which  now  could  be  found  in 
Spain.  In  the  front  of  the  church  there  is  a  small  square 
planted  with  trees,  from  whence  you  obtain  a  charming  view 
of  the  Sierra  Morena's  dark  chain  of  mountains,  in  former 
days  the  terror  of  all  travellers,  for  they  were  infested  by 
bands  of  notorious,  blood-thirsty  robbers.  In  that  direction, 
through  La  Mancha,  the  land  of  Don  Quixote,  and  across 
New  Castile,  lies  the  high  road  from  Cordova  to  Madrid. 

While  I  was  standing  contemplating  the  gloomy  landscape 
before  me,  the  heavy  rain-clouds  began  to  disperse,  the  sun's 
rays  fell  sharply  defined  over  the  masses  of  cloud  upon  the 
brownish  green  campagna  beneath ;  the  mountains  became 
dark  as  night ;  an  armed  peasant  upon  his  mule  was  the  only 
living  object  to  be  seen  in  this  vast  solitude. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

OVER  SANTA  CRUZ  DE  MUDELA  TO  MADRID. 

r  I  AHE  largest  portion  of  the  railroad  from  Cordova  to  Ma« 
_L  drid  is  not  finished ;  one  is,  therefore,  obliged  to  take 
the  diligence,  but  notwithstanding  this,  be  the  road  in  what- 
ever state  it  may,  drawn  by  ten  mules  at  a  flying  pace,  one  is 
still  constrained  to  endure  well-nigh  twenty-three  hours  in  this 
Vehicle  before  one  reaches  Santa  Cruz  de  Mudela,  where  the 
railway  begins  for  Madrid.  We  took  our  seats  in  the  dili- 
gence, and  determined  to  stop  and  rest  at  Santa  Cruz. 

The  street  in  Cordova  where  the  diligence  office  is  situated 
is  so  narrow  that  no  carriage  can  get  into  it ;  we  were,  there- 
fore, obliged  to  betake  ourselves  to  the  nearest  wide  street, 
where,  indeed,  the  diligence  was  kept ;  we  took  our  places, 
and  had  plenty  of  room,  for  we  were  only  three  travellers. 
The  carriage  was  not  bad,  nor  the  weather  either ;  the 
sun  burst  forth,  the  majoral  cracked  his  whip,  cried  his 
"  Thiah  !  caballo  de  desbocado,  Gitana,  Golondrina  !  "  all  of 
them  names  full  of  meaning.  We  drove  through  the  principal 
street,  along  the  Alameda,  out  at  the  ancient  city  gate ;  the 
campagna  lay  before  us,  smiling  and  rich  in  olive  groves,  but 
very  scantily  inhabited.  The  sun  had  not  yet  gone  down 
when  we  reached  Andujar,  a  town  which,  with  its  shops  and 
crowds  of  people  in  the  streets,  presented  a  far  more  lively 
appearance  than  Cordova  had  done,  though  it  is  much  larger. 
Here  wte  fell  in  with  an  exceedingly  jovial  travelling  com- 
panion, not  young,  but  as  inflammable  as  though  he  were  in 
the  susceptible  years  of  youth ;  he  kissed  his  hand  to  every 
woman  he  saw,  let  her  be  ever  so  old,  crying  after  her : 
"  Thou  star  of  my  life  !  "  or  "  Thou,  whose  eyes  are  two  suns  1 " 
He  exerted  himself  tremendously,  and  was  evidently  greatly 
fatigued  when,  late  in  the  evening,  we  reached  Baylem,  cele 


I  82  IN  SPAIN. 

brated  in  the  history  of  the  war,  and  by  no  means  an  insignifi- 
cant town.  We  stopped  at  one  end  of  the  town  to  change 
mules.  It  was  a  calm,  lovely  evening ;  the  new  moon  stood  in 
the  heavens ;  it  looked  like  a  golden  shell  in  which  lay  the 
globular  moon.  We  had  drawn  up  near  the  entrance  to  a 
church  j  two  ecclesiastics,  in  their  long  floating  cloaks,  glided 
like  spectres  beneath  the  dark  trees ;  the  moon  shone  upon 
the  church  windows,  lighting  them  up  as  if  the  interior  were 
illuminated.  The  Guadalquivir  rushed  along  close  by  us  ;  we 
could  hear  the  flowing  and  dashing  of  the  stream  ;  it  was  the 
only  sound,  monotonous  and  lulling,  in  the  vast  solitude.  The 
night  approached  with  sleep  and  dreams,  those  wonderful  "en- 
tremises"  often  so  wild  and  fantastic,  that  in  our  waking  mo- 
ments we  exclaim  there  was  no  meaning  in  it ;  then  at  times 
shining  like  a  light  on  the  soul,  a  revelation  from  the  spirit- 
world. 

Our  susceptible  Spaniard  said  he  was  going  to  dream  of 
pretty  eyes,  and  he  shut  his  own.  I  gazed  out  in  the  clear 
night,  and  dozed  a  little  now  and  then.  There  is  not  much  to 
be  told  about  a  journey  by  diligence  at  night ;  one  merely  re- 
members some  glimpses  of  the  landscape  caught  by  the  moon- 
light, or  a  few  solitary  figures,  which  the  glare  from  a  lantern 
suspended  from  some  stable-yard  might  bring  forth  from  the 
surrounding  gloom.  All  I  recollect  of  this  journey  is  that  we 
drove  through  a  flat,  cultivated  country,  and  that,  long  before 
dawn  of  day,  we  arrived  at  the  still  slumbering  little  town, 
La  Carolina,  a  German  colony,  where,  however,  for  many 
years  past  the  German  language  had  died  out. 

Here  the  door  of  the  carriage  was  thrown  open  by  a  stout 
dame.  Holding  up  a  lantern  which  shone  full  upon  her  own 
face,  she  cleared  her  throat,  put  out  her  mouth  as  if  she  were 
going  to  speak,  but  no  words  came  forth  ;  she  sneezed,  and 
our  amorous  Spaniard  hoped  she  might  obtain  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  and  a  good  husband. 

When  we  got  out  into  the  room,  the  first  thing  that  was  set 
before  us  was  a  large  comfortable  brazero  filled  with  glowing 
coals.  It  was  to  warm  us,  poor  frozen  mortals  ;  then  followed 
chocolate ;  then  we  had  to  prepare  ourselves  to  be  stuffed  into 
the  carriage,  where  now  all  the  places  were  occupied.  We  had 


OVER  SANTA    CRUZ  DE  MUD  EL  A    TO  MADRID.     183 

a  most  uncomfortable  journey.  From  La  Carolina  the  road 
continued  to  ascend  ;  here  and  there  masses  of  rock  jutted  out. 
We  glanced  down  into  deep  abysses,  where,  in  the  morning 
twilight,  thick  mist  reposed.  The  scenery  became  more  and 
more  wild,  and  so  picturesquely  beautiful  that  one  really  felt 
that  one  had  no  right  to  be  sitting  in  a  closed  carriage.  The 
Sierra  Morena  mountains  rose  before  us  in  all  their  grandeur 
and  variety ;  it  was  surpassingly  fine  !  Mighty  blocks  of  stone, 
dissevered  from  the  rock,  lay  in  confusion  about ;  gigantic 
trees  clung  with  their  long  roots  to  the  masses  of  rocks,  bend- 
ing over  the  precipices,  down  in  the  depths  of  which  the  water 
roared  and  dashed. 

We  met  some  armed  soldiers.  They  accompanied  us,  by 
way  of  caution,  a  considerable  way  ;  but  I  do  not  believe 
there  was  any  cause  to  fear  an  attack.  I  felt  myself  so 
thoroughly  safe  that  I  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  desire  to 
witness  a  slight  encounter  with  banditti.  The  whole  country 
seems  as  if  formed  for  it,  and  I  can  quite  well  understand  — 
if  it  were  only  true,  which  it  was  not  —  that  Alexander  Dumas, 
when  he  was  travelling  in  Spain,  was  most  eager  to  be  at- 
tacked by  robbers,  as  much  for  his  own  amusement  as  for  the 
amusement  of  his  readers.  Spaniards  have  related  this  story 
to  me  to  prove  with  what  security  one  can  travel  nowadays. 
Before  he  started  for  Spain,  Alexander  Dumas  is  said  to  have 
sent  a  well-known  robber-chief  a  check  for  a  thousand  francs, 
requesting  him,  in  return,  to  arrange  an  attack  upon  his  party, 
in  which,  however,  no  loss  was  to  be  sustained,  and  no  danger 
to  be  run.  The  robber  wrote  back  that  the  house  was  done 
away  with,  the  business  was  no  longer  pursued ;  but  he  in- 
closed an  acknowledgment  for  the  check.  The  whole  story 
is,  of  course,  an  invention. 

In  ^o  wild  and  glorious  a  country  as  this,  one  should  not 
travel  in  a  diligence,  but  rather  the  old-fashioned  way,  upon 
horseback ;  one  should  not  only  see  these  mountains  on  a 
bright,  sunny  day,  but  also  by  the  beautiful  moonlight.  We 
got  over  an  immense  quantity  of  ground,  but  we  could 
scarcety  keep  ourselves  warm  ;  all  around  the  water  was 
covered  with  ice.  At  length  the  sun  arose,  and  life  and 
activity  began.  People  were  busily  at  work  blasting  rocks, 


184  nv  SPAIA. 

and  cutting  through  hills.  In  a  few  years  it  is  hoped  that  the 
Cordova  and  Madrid  railway  will  be  united  at  this  spot 
Straggling  villages,  whose  houses  were  overgrown  with  fresh 
green  cacti  leaves,  lay  at  short  distances  from  each  other ;  in 
front  of  the  hovels  sat  women  dressing  their  children,  and 
several  families  were  already  eating  their  breakfasts.  There 
might  be  subject-matter  sufficient  for  numerous  pictures  if  I 
described  everything  that  I  saw  and  hurried  past  in  a  few 
seconds. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon  we  reached  the  end  of 
our  journey  —  the  small  town  Santa  Cruz  de  Mudela.  I  have 
not  seen  so  dirty  a  town  in  the  whole  of  Spain.  The  streets 
were  unpaved,  and  at  that  moment  were  covered  with  thick, 
bad-smelling  mud.  It  was  impossible  to  walk  here,  still  less 
to  live  here  ;  the  houses  were  all  poor,  miserable  huts.  We 
were  obliged  to  traverse  the  town  notwithstanding  all  its  mud 
and  mire.  Some  little  distance  beyond  it,  near  the  railway, 
was  situated  the  fonda  which  had  been  recommended  to  us, 
and  indeed  the  only  one  of  the  place  ;  it  looked  by  no  means 
inviting :  it  was  a  large,  dirty  tavern,  with  low,  dingy  rooms, 
upon  the  floors  of  which  straw  had  been  strewed  to  keep  the 
feet  warm.  The  bedroom  that  was  assigned  to  us  had  no 
window  ;  a  large  square  opening  in  the  wall,  with  a  wooden 
grating,  was  an  apology  for  one  —  and  this  they  called  the 
best  room  in  the  house  ! 

To  have  passed  the  night  here,  and  to  have  spent  the 
whole  of  the  following  afternoon  in  this  hole,  or  to  have 
wandered  about  the  meagre,  tiresome  neighborhood,  would 
have  been  to  me  a  punishment  and  a  penance.  No  ;  I  would 
rather  faint  or  die  in  the  railway  carriage  from  over-fatigue. 
The  determination  to  go  was  immediately  carried  out ;  the 
train  was  about  to  start  at  once  ;  we  jumped  into  the  carriage, 
which,  after  a  transit  of  ten  hours,  would  reach  Madrid  at 
midnight.  We  were  most  comfortably  seated.  It  was  re- 
freshing in  the  extreme  to  be  rushing  onward  in  a  civilized 
conveyance,  once  more  to  feel  that  you  were  living  in  the 
present  day.  We  flew  along  at  a  tremendous  pace.  The 
country  was  flat,  without  any  variety.  In  the  ancient  city 
Alcazar  de  San  Juan,  which,  as  well  as  some  other  Spanish 


OVER  SANTA    CRUZ  DE  MUDELA    TO  MADRID.     [85 

towns,  claims  to  be  the  birthplace  of  Cervantes,  we  joined  the 
Madrid  and  Valencia  train. 

Here  we  were  obliged  to  wait  an  immense  time  for  the 
main  train,  which  was  not  expected  before  sunset.  Meanwhile, 
we  sat  in  the  wearisome  station,  and  gazed  down  upon  the  old 
town,  with  its  numerous  churches  and  vast  buildings.  They 
looked  very  interesting ;  we  ought  to  have  stopped  here  the 
night,  and  might  have  made  an  excursion  to  the  neighboring 
2bboso,  famous  through  Don  Quixote's  Dulcinea,  but  nobody 
had  mentioned  this  town  to  us ;  only  in  Santa  Cruz  de  Mu- 
dela,  we  were  told,  there  was  a  fonda  for  travellers.  Railways 
are  still  so  great  a  novelty  in  Spain,  that  even  in  the  larger 
cities,  when  they  are  situated  some  distance  from  this  new 
line,  no  information  can  be  obtained.  Even  the  printed  rail- 
way book,  "  Indicador  de  los  Caminos  de  hierro,"  in  which  all 
the  stations  and  trains  are  distinctly  indicated,  is  not  to  be 
met  with  at  any  station  except  that  at  Madrid. 

When,  by  the  power  of  steam,  we  again  flew  onward.  Alca- 
zar de  San  Juan  appeared  like  a  shade  cast  upon  the  red 
evening  sky.  The  road  was  long ;  the  time  was  long  ;  the 
new  moon  stood  in  the  heaven  and  lighted  up  the  far-stretch- 
ing campagna  on  both  sides  of  us.  Conversation  in  our 
carriage  decreased,  and  was  confined  merely  to  counting  the 
hours  and  quarters  of  an  hour  which  we  still  had  to  endure 
before  the  journey  would  be  ended.  It  became  darker  and 
darker,  when  suddenly,  amidst  trees  and  shrubs,  we  ap- 
proached Aranjuez,  an  oasis  in  the  desert  land  that  surrounds 
Madrid.  The  verse  in  Schiller's  "  Don  Carlos  "  immediately 
occurred  to  us  :  — 

pie  schbnen  Tage  von  Aranjuez  sind  nun  zu  Ende  ! 

We  stopped  a  few  minutes  at  the  railway-station  ;  saw  the 
lamps  shining  in  the  alleys  and  reflecting  in  the  canals,  and 
—  our  minutes  in  Aranjuez  were  at  an  end.  The  train  pro- 
ceeded toward  Madrid  ;  in  an  hour  we  might  be  there. 

It  was  a  long  hour  —  a  dark  hour  —  not  a  light  from  house 
or  venta  was  to  be  seen.  We  traversed  the  deserted  cam- 
pagna, which  formerly  was  overgrown  with  wood.  Tradition 
relates  respecting  the  name  "  Madrid  "  that  here,  once  upon  a 


I  86  IN  SPAIN. 

time,  a  boy  was  pursued  by  a  bear ;  he  climbed  up  a  tree, 
and  called  to  his  mother,  who  was  coming  to  his  aid,  "  Madre, 
id  ! >;  tnat  is  to  say,  "  Mother,  run  !  "  Now  we  were  running 
at  full  speed ;  we  gazed  out  of  the  carriage,  in  the  hope  of 
seeing  the  city  by  lamp-light.  For  one  moment  we  caught  a 
glimpse  of  light  upon  light  shining  in  the  distance.  It  was 
Madrid ;  but  it  disappeared  again  as  the  train  took  another 
turn. 

At  length  we  stopped  at  the  station.  It  was  midnight.  We 
escaped  the  tiresome  custom-house,  and  drove  off  at  once 
across  the  broad  alley  —  the  Prado  —  into  the  city,  through 
several  long  streets  to  the  Fonda  Peninsular  —  the  hotel  which 
had  been  most  highly  recommended  to  us  by  every  one.  The 
place  was  scantily  lighted,  and  looked  to  us  so  deserted,  so 
dirty,  and  so  wretched,  with  not  a  being  to  be  seen  either  in 
the  doorway  or  upon  the  steps,  that  we  turned  round  and 
begged  the  coachman  to  take  us  to  a  better  hotel.  He  recom- 
mended the  Fonda  del  Oriente,  upon  the  Plaza  del  Sol,  near 
by,  and  the  best  in  the  whole  city.  We  drove  there  imme- 
diately, and  were  most  comfortably  quartered.  A  fire  blazed 
in  the  fire-place ;  good  viands  and  good  wine  were  set  before 
us ;  the  beds  were  excellent ;  our  sleep  sound,  without  dreams, 
and  this  is  an  event  to  be  remembered  when  one  sleeps  in  a 
new  place  for  the  first  time. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MADRID. 

THE  first  day  I  determined  to  remain  at  home  to  rest  my- 
self. The  weather  was  raw  and  disagreeable,  and  to  my 
surprise  all  the  roofs  were  covered  with  snow ;  winter  had  com- 
menced at  Madrid.  Down  in  the  plaza,  below,  where  several 
of  the  principal  streets  unite,  it  was  gloomy  and  dirty ;  carriers' 
wagons  with  jingling  bells,  droskies,  and  other  carriages,  were 
'  moving  about ;  soldiers  on  foot  and  on  horseback,  peasants 
enveloped  in  their  large  red  mantas  and  with  flame-colored 
flapping  hats,  I  saw;  but  there  were  not  many  women  out  — 
the  weather  was  too  severe  for  them ;  the  gentlemen  were 
wrapped  up  in  Spanish  cloaks,  drawn  quite  over  their  mouths, 
but  nothing  either  new  or  characteristic  was  visible  ;  and  yet 
this  was  the  most  frequented  place  in  Madrid,  the  heart  of 
the  town  —  Puerto,  del  Sol.  The  first  glance  we  took  out  was 
not  promising,  but  things  might  improve.  Perhaps  we  might 
remain  the  whole  winter  at  Madrid.  This  was  a  pleasant 
thought !  Our  Danish  minister,  Baron  Brockdorfif,  I  knew  to 
be  a  most  amiable  and  superior  man  ;  and  I  had  predicted 
to  my  travelling  companion  that  we  should  find  ourselves 
quite  at  home  in  the  Spanish  capital.  We  expected  also  to 
find  letters  from  Denmark  awaiting  us  at  the  Danish  minis- 
ter's ;  it  was  long  since  we  had  received  any. 

The  porter  at  the  hotel  said,  "  There  is  no  Danish  minister 
at  Madrid ;  at  least  I  do  not  know  where  he  resides."  A 
droski-driverVas  asked ;  he  took  a  long  time  to  consider,  and 
named  several  of  the  legations,  but  not  one  of  them  sounded 
like  Dinamarca;  he  called  another  droski-driver,  who  beck- 
oned to  a  third,  and  at  last  we  found  a  well-informed  droski- 
driver,  who  took  us  to  the  Belgian  minister's.  Here  we  were 
told  that  there  was  no  Danish  legation  at  Madrid  ;  but  we  could 
not  believe  this.  We  were  then  driven  to  the  department  for 


1 88  IN  SPAIN. 

foreign  affairs,  and  there  we  ascertained  that  Baron  Brockdorff 
was  in  Denmark.  This  was  sad  intelligence  to  us  !  And  all 
our  expected  letters  —  where  were  they  ?  We  endeavored,  at 
the  post-office,  to  ascertain  what  had  become  of  our  letters, 
addressed  to  the  Danish  Legation,  and  we  were  informed  that 
in  a  certain  street,  a  certain  house,  and  a  certain  story  of 
that  house,  resided  a  gentleman  who  did  not  belong  to  the 
legation,  but  who,  in  the  absence  of  the  minister,  took  charge 
of  all  letters  addressed  to  his  care.  We  had  first  to  search 
for  the  house,  and  when  that  was  discovered,  to  find  the 
man  at  home.  He  proved  to  be  a  very  respectable,  oblig- 
ing Spaniard.  The  postman  had  certainly  brought  him  a  letter 
for  me ;  but  the  Spaniard  knew  no  Mr.  Andersen,  and  had 
therefore  allowed  the  postman  to  take  it  away  again.  The 
postman  was  not  to  be  found ;  the  letter  was  in  his  possession. 
It  was  not  very  pleasant.  "  For  other  matters,  to  whom  am  I 
to  apply  ? "  I  asked.  "  How  shall  our  passports  be  vised  when 
we  leave  this  place  ? " 

"  The  Swedish  minister,  his  Excellency  Bergman,  has  under- 
taken all  that,"  replied  the  Spaniard,  and  promised  to  introduce 
us  to  him. 

We  made  our  way  to  his  house  in  the  midst  of  pouring  rain  ; 
but,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  he  was  not  at  home.  Our 
arrival,  however,  was  now  made  known  to  him ;  and  early  next 
morning  came  a  friendly  message  from  the  Swedish  Legation, 
and  a  few  hours  afterward  the  minister  himself  walked  into 
my  room.  We  had  known  each  other  at  Naples.  We  were 
in  the  best  of  hands,  for  he  had  the  kindest  heart  that  could 
be.  He  showed  the  greatest  attention  to  myself  and  my  fellow- 
traveller  ;  we  daily  received  proofs  of  his  kindness.  The 
Danish  minister,  who  was  at  that  time  in  Copenhagen,  could 
not,  had  he  been  in  Madrid,  have  done  more  for  us  than  our 
Swedish  friend  and  patron  did.  We  were  no  longer  lonely 
and  friendless.  It  so  happened  that  the  numerous  letters  of 
introduction  I  had  brought  to  Madrid  were  of  no  use  ;  those 
to  whom  I  had  been  recommended  were  all  absent.  One 
had  never  resided  at  Madrid  ;  another  could  not  be  found  ;  a 
third,  I  was  told,  had  gone  to  settle  at  Alicante  ;  and  a  fourth 
had  gone  for  a  short  time  to  Paris.  The  only  one  I  found  at 


MADRID.  1 89 

home  was  the  author,  Don  Sinibaldo  de  Mas,  who  had  been 
the  Spanish  minister  in  China,  but  he  was  ill. 

Doubly  glad,  therefore,  was  I  to  have  found  a  friend  from 
"  hin  sida  sundet."  The  weather  was  bitterly  cold.  The  snow 
melted,  indeed,  upon  the  roofs  ;  but  next  morning  they  were 
always  again  white  with  more  which  had  fallen.  At  length 
the  air  became  clear,  but  there  was  a  wind  blowing,  which  I, 
who  am  from  the  wind's  stronghold  in  the  North,  found  diabol- 
ical ;  it  was  so  chill,  so  cutting,  so  dry.  The  Spaniards  say, 
''The  wind  in  Madrid  cannot  blow  out  a  candle,  but  it  is 
enough  to  kill  a  man."  1 

The  Spanish  poet  Gongora    has,  in  a  sonnet,  painted  the 
capital  of  Spain  in  glowing  colors.     How  far  his  sketch  bore 
the  stamp  of  truth  in  his  time,  I  know  not ;  but  I  will  give  a 
,  climate  photograph. 

MADRID. 

The  capital  of  Spain  —  O  no ! 

For  in  thee  there  is  nothing  seen 
Of  what  characterizes  her  — 

There  is  no  likeness  left,  I  ween. 

One  is  in  Paris,  or  Vienna, 

But  sure  no  longer  in  bright  Spain  ; 
Here  the  sharp  northern  blasts  prevail,  — 

Here  there  is  cold,  and  snow,  and  rain. 

Our  dark  November  days  no  more, 

Our  northern  climate,  will  I  blame  ; 
For  —  to  the  rest  of  Spain  unlike  — 

Dreary  Madrid  has  just  the  same  ! 

In  the  North,  in  the  cloudy  land,  the  wind  sweeps  across 
the  open  strand,  and  through  the  corner  of  every  street.  There 
are  many  corners,  and  a  poet  may  dwell  in  each  of  them.  Is 
there  one  well  born  and  brought  up  ?  he  delights  in  the  beauti- 
ful, he  is  full  of  Jipnging  after  romantic  Spain.  Let  him  come 
here  —  let  them  all  come  direct  to  Madrid,  at  any  period  of 
the  year  they  choose  !  If  that  be  in  summer,  they  will  be 

1  El  aire  de  Madrid  es  tan  sotil 
Que  mata  a  un  hombre, 
Y  no    naga  a  un  candil. 


190 


IN  SPAIN. 


roasted  alive  by  the  sun  ;  if  it  be  in  winter,  they  will  receive 
the  icicles'  kiss,  they  will  be  favored  with  frosted  ringers,  and 
thawing  snow  into  their  very  galoshes.  And  if  they  remain 
here,  what  have  they  seen  of  Spain  ?  Madrid  has  none  of  the 
characteristics  of  a  Spanish  town,  not  to  mention  the  capital 
of  Spain.  That  it  became  such,  was  a  fancy  of  Philip  II.,  and 
he  would  assuredly  have  frozen  and  perspired  for  this  his  royal 
whim. 

One  very  great  advantage,  however,  this  place  possesses  — 
the  first  of  its  kind  ;  it  is  the  picture-gallery  —  a  pearl,  a 
treasure,  worthy  to  be  sought,  and  deserving  a  journey  to 
Madrid  to  see  it.  During  our  stay  here,  there  was  another 
very  charming  place  of  resort  open  —  the  Italian  opera  ;  but 
when  you  have  mentioned  this  and  the  picture-gallery,  you 
have  named  what  are  the  most  remarkable  and  most  interest- 
ing places  for  strangers.  Outside  all  was  raw  and  damp,  but 
within  the  theatre  you  sat  as  if  in  a  warm  bath,  amidst  smoke 
and  steam ;  the  thick  mist  from  the  numerous  cigars  the  peo- 
ple smoked  between  the  acts,  and  the  smell  of  the  gas,  per- 
vaded even  the  boxes.  Yet,  notwithstanding  these  disagree- 
ables, we  remained  until  after  midnight,  fascinated  by  the  rich- 
ness of  the  tones  with  which  Signora  La  Grange  astonished 
and  delighted  us. 

The  most  of  the  recent  Italian  operas  may  be  compared  to 
a  picture,  wherein  the  singers,  with  their  art,  or  their  soul  and 
genius,  are  the  objects  that  surprise  and  captivate  us.  Signora 
La  Grange  and  Lablache  were  charming  specimens  of  this. 

The  opera  and  the  picture-gallery  —  the  latter  a  never-end- 
ing pleasure  —  must  thus  always  give  a  superiority  to  Madrid 
over  most  of  the  other  towns,  it  will  be  said.  But  it  is  with 
towns  as  it  is  with  human  beings  ;  they  either  attract  or  repel. 
Paris  should  never  be  my  home  from  choice.  Venice  has 
never  pleased  me  ;  I  have  always  felt  there  as  if  I  were  on  a 
wreck  out  at  sea.  Madrid  reminds  me  of  a  camel  that  has 
fallen  down  in  the  desert :  I  felt  as  if  I  was  sitting  on  its 
hump  and  though  I  could  see  far  around,  I  was  not  sitting 
comfortably. 

Besides  the  Puerto,  del  Sol —  the  plaza  in  which  we  resided 


MADRID. 

—  there  are  in  Madrid  some  other  plazas  which  ought  to  be 
mentioned,  and  which  has  each  its  peculiarity.  The  pret- 
tiest is  the  large  Plaza  de  Oriente,  planted  with  trees  and 
bushes  ;  it  is  situated  near  the  palace.  Under  the  leafy  trees 
stand  here,  in  a  circle,  statues  of  the  kings  and  queens  of 
Leon  and  Castile.  The  palace  itself  is  a  large,  heavy  build- 
ing ;  but  from  its  terrace,  and  even  from  part  of  the  plaza, 
there  is  an  extensive  and  lovely  view  over  the  garden  and  the 
fields  down  to  the  River  Manzanares,  and  of  the  hills  behind 
the  Escurial ;  they  were  now  quite  covered  with  snow,  and 
looked  very  picturesque  when  the  atmosphere  was  clear.  The 
Plaza  Major,  which  is  at  no  great  distance,  has  quite  an  oppo- 
site character  ;  one  feels  one's  self,  as  it  were,  in  it,  confined  in 
a  prison-yard  ;  but  it  is  unquestionably  the  most  peculiar  of 
'all  the  plazas  in  Madrid.  It  savors  of  the  Middle  Ages  ;  is 
more  long  than  broad  ;  and  has  in  its  centre  a  bronze  statue 
of  Philip  III.  on  horseback.  The  lofty  arcade  around  it  con- 
tains but  small,  insignificant  shops,  where  are  sold  bonnets, 
woolen  goods,  and  hardware.  In  former  days,  this  plaza  was 
the  scene  of  the  bloody  bull-fights  and  the  terrible  autos-da-fe. 
Even  now  stands  here  the  old  building,  with  its  turrets  and 
curiously  formed  window-frames,  from  the  balconies  of  which 
the  Spanish  kings  and  courts  beheld  the  bull-fight,  or  saw  the 
unfortunate  victims  of  the  Inquisition  roasted  alive.  The  little 
clock  which  gave  the  death-signal  hangs  still  upon  the  wall. 

I  always  observed  a  number  of  soldiers  in  this  plaza.  They 
stood  in  groups,  looking  at  different  jugglers  who,  during  the 
whole  day,  were  performing  here.  In  the  evening  poor  boys 
kindled  a  large  fire  here  to  warm  themselves.  On  the  steps 
leading  up  to  the  arcade  sat  a  couple  of  wretched-looking  ob- 
jects, an  old  woman  in  rags,  and  a  gray-haired  old  man 
wrapped  up  in  a  dirty  Spanish  cloak.  Each  of  them  were 
playing  on  some  little  instrument,  which  was  quite  out  of  tune, 
to  which  they  sartg  in  husky  voices  equally  out  of  tune.  Not 
one  of  the  people  passing  by  gave  them  anything.  Neverthe- 
less, they  continued  to  sit  where  they  were,  as  if  they  had 
grown  fast  to  the  damp  stone,  in  the  bitterly  cold  weather,  and 
perhaps  they  were  singing  about  that  hero,  the  Cid,  or  of 
happy*love. 


IN  SPAIN. 

Plaza  de  los  Cortes  is  a  very  insignificant  square,  only  an 
irregular  extension  of  the  street  in  front  of  the  building  where 
the  legislature  meet,  Palacio  de  los  Disputados,  and  has  nothing 
worth  the  observation  of  a  stranger  except  a  monument  which 
stands  there  —  the  statue  of  a  man  in  an  old-fashioned,  mili- 
tary Spanish  dress,  with  a  stiff  ruff,  and  a  sword.  The  whole 
monument  is  wanting  in  grandeur ;  one  is  inclined  to  pass  it 
carelessly,  supposing  that  it  has  been  erected  in  memory  of 
some  military  commander  who  has  no  particular  claim  to  our 
admiration.  But  when  we  heard  the  name,  we  arrested  our 
steps,  and  gazed  at  it  with  the  deepest  interest ;  for  in  that 
figure  which  we  saw  before  us  we  beheld  a  king  in  the  glori- 
ous intellectual  world,  one  whose  works  are  immortal,  whose 
name  is  honored  in  every  part  of  the  earth  where  literature 
flourishes.  While  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood,  he  bore  the 
chains  of  a  slave ;  in  battle,  he  offered  to  his  father-land, 
Spain,  his  left  arm  :  his  contemporaries  left  him  to  suffer  from 
want ;  they  treated  him  with  scandalous  indifference  ;  they 
could  neither  comprehend  him,  nor  appreciate  him.  Now, 
however,  a  monument  stands  in  memory  of  him,  with  this  in- 
scription :  — 

A  MIGUEL  DE  CERVANTES  SAAVEDRA,  PRINCIPE  DE  LOS  INGENIOS 
ESPANOLES. 

The  author  of  "  Don  Quixote,"  the  writer  of  "  Galatea,"  the 
founder  of  the  drama,  the  relater  of  popular  tales,1  is  as  much 
to  be  admired  as  a  man  as  a  literary  character.  The  many 
and  heavy  trials  to  which  he  had  been  subjected  called  forth 
no  moroseness,  no  disgust  to  life  in  him  ;  on  the  contrary,  the 
richness  of  his  humor  seemed  to  have  acquired  fiesh  power 
from  them.  Every  true  poet  must  see  in  him  an  example  of 
manly  endurance  and  unfeigned  modesty.  Even  in  his  life- 
time his  dramatic  works  were  surpassed  by  those  of  the  incred- 
ibly fertile  and  very  witty  Lope  de  Vega,2  but  he  never  could 

1  Among  the  collection  of  his  short  stories  is  to  be  found  the  well-known 
tale  La  Gitanilla  di  Madrid. 

2  Lope  de  vega  has  produced  not  less  than  2,200  pieces  for  the  theatre, 
besides  a  number  of  smaller  and  larger  poems  ;  one  of  these,  Angelica, 
he  wrote  on  board  ship,  when  engaged  in  military  service  in  the  invincible 
fleet  Spain  sent  against  England.     When  a  widower,  he  entered  into  mo 


MADRID. 


'93 


or  can  be  surpassed  as  a  novelist.  "  Don  Quixote  "  will  al- 
ways remain  the  romance  of  romances  ;  after  that  work,  which 
he  dedicated  to  Count  Lemos,  followed  "  Persiles  and  Sigis- 
munda,"  a  work  of  which  he  himself  said  :  "  This  will  be  either 
the  worst  or  the  best  book  written  in  our  language."  "  The 
Journey  to  Parnassus  "  was  his  last  poem ;  it  adds  to  the 
splendor  of  his  name  by  its  play  of  wit  and  humor.  No  one 
knows  where  his  grave  is :  who  of  all  his  contemporaries 
would  have  inquired  about  it  ?  On  no  tombstone  is  his  name 
carved,  but  it  is  engraved  in  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Spain 
is  proud  of  it ;  Europe  speaks  with  admiration  and  honor  of 
Cervantes ;  whilst  the  mighty  Philip  II.,  in  whose  vast  do- 
mains the  sun  never  set,  and  the  auto  da-fe's  burning  pile  of 
human  victims  was  never  extinguished,  is  abhorred,  and  not 
'pitied  for  that  death  which  the  Almighty  seems  to  have  ap- 
pointed for  tyrants  —  the  living  body  to  be  eaten  up  by  ver- 
min, while  spiritual  terrors  did  not  grant  peace  to  the  immor- 
tal tenant  of  the  loathsome  carcase. 

The  monument  to  Cervantes  stands  on  that  plaza  in  Madrid 
where  once  the  great  author's  house  stood. 

The  remembrance  of  him  leads  thought  to  wander  over  the 
whole  rich  field  of  Spanish  literature,  and  one  is  astonished  at 
the  national  luxuriance  and  freshness  which,  in  spite  of  all  the 
storms  they  have  encountered,  are  shown  even  in  our  day. 
We  are  delighted  with  the  charming  romances  about  the  Cid  ; 
we  are  pleased  with  the  religiously  inclined  verses  of  Gonzalos, 
and  admire  the  satirical  thistle-blossoms  that  grow  from  the 
pen  of  Prince  Don  Emanuel  of  Castile.  We  learn  in  the 
dramatic  writings  to  know  the  lives  and  humor  of  the  popu- 
lace. Spain  had,  before  France,  its  Moliere,  in  the  mechanic, 
the  strolling  player,  Lope  de  Rueda.1  We  see  collected  into 
groups  near  each  other  the  mighty  geniuses  named  Cervantes, 
Lope  de  Vegaj^alderon,  and  Moreto.2  The  age  in  which 

nastlc  life,  and  sad  it  is  to  be  obliged  to  add,  that  the  great  poet  accepted 
an  office  in  the  Inquisition  and  even  assisted  at  autos-da-fe  ! 

1  His  literary  activity  was  principally  evinced  between  the  years  1544 
and  1567. 

2  Moreto's   celebrated  comedy,   Donna  Diana,   has  appeared  on  the 
Danish  stage. 

13 


1 94  IN  SPAIN. 

they  flourished  seems  to  have  been  that  in  which  Spanish 
literature  attained  its  highest  excellence,  though  it  has  never 
since  become  quite  extinct.  Through  all  the  bloody  battles  in 
which  this  country  has  been  engaged,  and  notwithstanding  the 
horrors  of  the  Inquisition,  with  its  fearful  autos-da-fe",  the  na- 
tional poetic  spirit  has  always  remained.  There  is  a  wealth  of 
humor  in  the  people  themselves,  and  in  our  own  time  there  is 
much  interest  growing  for  the  national  literature.1  Most  of 
the  authors  of  the  present  day  choose  frequently  subjects  pe- 
culiar to  their  native  country. 

A  little  zarzuela,  "  El  Loco  de  la  Guardilla,"  created  a  great 
sensation  while  I  was  here  ;  the  author,  Don  Narciso  Serra, 
knew  how  to  work  on  the  national  feeling ;  Cervantes  and 
Lope  de  Vega  are  both  introduced  into  this  piece.  I  saw  it 
performed  at  one  of  the  minor  theatres  at  Madrid  ;  it  bore  the 
name  of  Lope  de  Vega.  The  plot  is  shortly  this  :  — 

The  sister  of  Cervantes  is  in  great  distress  about  her 
brother  ;  he  sits  constantly  in  his  little  garret  room,  writing 
diligently,  and  often  laughing  immoderately.  This  makes  his 
sister  very  uneasy  —  she  fears  he  is  deranged.  She  calls  in 
two  physicians ;  one  of  them  goes  immediately  to  see  the  sup- 
posed patient,  while  the  sister  and  the  other  doctor,  who  is 
afterward  to  be  introduced,  stand  and  listen.  Presently  they 
hear  loud  laughter  from  the  doctor  inside,  as  well  as  from  the 
patient.  The  second  doctor  then  goes  in  ;  there  is  silence  for 
a  few  minutes,  then  the  quiet  is  broken  by  roars  of  laughter 
from  all  three  as  if  they  were  mad.  The  next-door  neighbors 
hear  it  and  come  to  the  sister,  who  explains  things  to  them 
according  to  her  ideas.  They  hasten  to  enter  the  room  where 
are  assembled  the  three  laughing  gentlemen,  and  in  a  very 
short  time  after  there  is  such  a  chorus  of  laughter  in  which  all 
the  neighbors  have  joined  —  it  is  so  loud,  so  obstreperous  — 
that  the  servants  of  the  Inquisition  enter,  headed  by  the  poet 
Lope  de  Vega.  Cervantes  then  hands  to  Lope  the  manuscript 
of  "  Don  Quixote."  He  tells  how,  while  in  a  gay  humor  he 

1  An  interesting  review  of  the  more  modern  literature  of  Spain  may  be 
obtained  by  reading  Die  Nationalliteratur  der  Spanier  seit  dem  Anfangt 
des  neunzehnten  yahrhunderts,  von  Dr.  Eduard  Brinckmeier-  Gottingen, 
1850- 


MADRID.  195 

was  composing  the  story,  he  could  not  help  laughing ;  that  he 
had  read  part  of  it  to  the  two  physicians,  and  to  the  neighbors, 
and  they  had  all  laughed  with  him.  Lope  reads  quietly  to 
himself  a  few  pages,  then  breaks  out  suddenly  into  enthusiasm, 
and  predicts  that  this  work  will  render  its  author  immortal, 
and  will  shine  like  a  star  amidst  the  literary  annals  of  Spain. 
He  crowns  Cervantes,  the  dramatis  personae  applaud,  the  au- 
dience applauds,  and  the  curtain  falls  amidst  shouts  of  appro- 
bation. The  storm  of  plaudits  continued  long,  a  genuine  out- 
break of  unsophisticated  Spanish  nature. 

The  exhibition  entitled  "  La  Exposicion  Nacional  de  Bellas 
Artes  de  1862,"  was  to  remain  open  for  a  few  days  longer. 
The  large,  widely  extending   building   stands  on  the  Prado. 
'  We  drove  to  it,  in  the  midst  of  rain  and  sleet ;  the  whole 
promenade  was  a  sea  of  mud  ;  heavy,  withered  fruit  hung  from 
the  leafless  trees.     It  was  absolutely  like  the  beginning  of  a 
northern  winter  —  the  weather  wet,  raw,  detestable.     In  the 
wide  halls  where  the  exhibition  was  held  there  was  a  very 
unpleasant  smell ;  it  was  such  as  pervades  newly  built  damp 
rooms.     But  there  was  much  that  was  interesting  to  be  seen 
here  ;  amongst  these  a  fine  statue  of  the  lately  deceased  dra- 
matic writer,  the  statesman  Martinez  de  la  Rosas.     He,  like 
so  many  other  notorieties,  experienced,  during  his  career,  the 
caprice  of  popular  tastes.     He  went  to  France,  from  whence 
he  returned  after  a  time  to  honor  and  renown   at  home.     I 
had  made  his  acquaintance  in  Paris,  in  1843,  and  I  was  re- 
joiced at  the  prospect  of  meeting  him  again   in  Madrid  ;  he 
had  promised  me  the  kindest  of  receptions  ;  now  I  found  him 
only  in  the  inanimate  clay.     Here  was  a  statue  of  Lope  de 
Vega,  and  an  interesting  representation  of  Tragedy  sitting  in 
Jeep  thought,  with  a  dagger  in  her  hand.     Here  also  was  an 
extremely  prettystatue  of  the  Queen,  holding  in  her  arms  the 
young  infant  who  is  to  be  the  future  King  of  Spain.     Several 
of  the  painters  had  taken  their  subjects  from  the  history  of 
Maria  de  Padilla.     Among  the  national  battle-pieces,  the  one 
I  most  admired  was  by  the  painter  Navarro  y  Canizares  ;  it 
was   a   representation    of  "  La   Defensa   de   Zargoza."     The 
young  girl,  who  here  fired  off  the  cannon,  seemed  in  her  bold- 


I  96  IN  SPAIN. 

ness  to  be  breathing  from  the  canvas.  The  old  Spanish 
romances  had  afforded  many  subjects  for  the  paintings ;  and. 
only  to  point  out  one,  I  will  name  the  Cid's  daughters,  naked, 
bound  to  a  tree,  and  abandoned  in  the  wild  wood. 
,  From  the  exhibition  we  proceeded  to  the  museum.  The 
wealth  of  master-works  one  finds  here  is  astonishing — nay, 
overwhelming.  Here  are  Raphael,  Titian,  Coreggio,  Paul 
Veronese,  Rubens,  but  before  them  all  are  Murillo  and 
Velasquez.  One  should  remain  in  this  place  more  than  a 
year  and  a  day  rightly  to  take  in  and  appreciate  all  this 
magnificence.  Here  I  first  learned  to  know  Velasquez,  who 
was  a  contemporary  of  Murillo.  What  art  and  genius  has  he 
not  exhibited  in  bringing  out  the  milk-white,  plain-looking 
Infantas,  in  the  ridiculous  costume  of  their  time  ?  They  seem 
to  be  living  and  speaking,  and  take  their  place  amidst  the 
ranks  of  beauty,  owing  to  the  perfection  with  which  they  are 
painted,  and  the  curious  accessories  surrounding  them,  such 
as  male  and  female  dwarfs,  and  ferocious-looking  dogs  of 
characteristic  ugliness.  The  figures  seem  so  entirely  as  if 
they  were  walking  out  of  their  frames,  that  one  cannot  doubt 
the  story,  that  a  couple  of  those  pictures,  placed  upon  easels 
in  Velasquez's  studio,  made  people  in  the  adjoining  rooms 
fancy  that  the  real  persons  were  there.  Such  a  magic  effect 
is  particularly  remarkable  in  one  painting ;  it  is  a  composition 
—  the  celebrated  relater  of  fables,  ^Esop  :  after  having  seen 
the  picture  Velasquez  has  given  of  him,  we  could  never  think 
of  ^sop  under  any  other  appearance.  Philip  IV.,  King  of 
Spain,  who  was  a  friend  and  admirer  of  Velasquez,  bestowed 
on  him  the  rank  of  chamberlain,  and  adorned  his  breast  with 
the  most  distinguished  orders  of  the  country. 

There  are  no  less  than  ten  pictures  of  Raphael's  here,  and 
among  them  one  of  his  most  celebrated,  "  The  Bearing  of  the 
Cross  ; "  next  to  it  conies  "  The  Holy  Family,"  that  picture  to 
which  Philip  IV.  gave  the  name  of  "  The  Pearl ; "  but  this 
appellation  does  not  suit  it,  for  it  is  the  least  admirable  of  all 
Raphael's  works,  or,  indeed,  of  the  masterpieces  that  are  to 
be  found  here.  Better  than  Raphael,  better  than  Titian, 
better  than  all  here,  I  like  Murillo.  His  heavenly  Madonna, 
surrounded  by  angels,  is  so  perfect,  so  full  of  inspiration,  tha* 


MADRID. 


197 


one  .night  fancy  he  had  beheld  her  in  some  celestial  revela- 
tion. There  is  such  superhuman  purity  and  innocence  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  such  grace  and  infantine  simplicity 
in  the  angels  floating  around  her,  that  one  feels  a  sensation  of 
happiness,  as  if  it  were  permitted  to  us  to  behold  a  glimpse  of 
holier  worlds.  Another,  a  smaller  picture,  also  an  admirable 
work,  is  the  child  Jesus,  with  a  lamb  and  a  shepherd's  crook  ; 
there  is  in  this  picture  such  an  expression  of  confidence, 
united  to  such  charming  childish  innocence,  that  one  feels  a 
strong  desire  to  kiss  its  lips  and  its  eyes.  One  more  work  of 
Murillo's  I  must  mention,  it  is  so  charmingly  conceived  and 
so  beautifully  executed ;  it  represents  a  little  domestic  scene  : 
a  young  mother  sits  and  winds  yarn,  her  husband  holds  the 
child,  who  is  raising  a  little  bird  high  in  the  air,  whilst  a  little 
dog  shows  its  cleverness  by  sitting  on  his  hind-legs  and  giving 
his  paw. 

Beyond  Spain  Murillo  is  not  much  known,  and  therefore  he 
is  not  seen  on  the  high  pedestal  he  occupies  over  other  great 
artists.  Raphael  takes  the  highest  place ;  his  representation 
of  the  Madonna  is  an  ideality.  Murillo  gives  reality  in  its 
most  beautiful  aspect  —  gives  us  the  bride  of  the  carpenter 
Joseph,  the  blossom  of  innocence  and  faith,  the  woman  se- 
lected by  God  to  bring  us  His  only-begotten  Son.  Raphael's 
sixteenth  Madonna  at  Dresden  has  flesh  and  blood  like 
Murillo's  ;  one  cannot  be  quite  sure  to  whom  the  picture  be- 
longs. 

The  museum  also  possesses  some  of  Thorwaldsen's  works. 
A  design  of  his  well-known  bass-relief,  "  The  Guardian  Angel," 
is  to  be  found  here ;  in  it  is  to  be  seen  a  serpent  beneath  the 
child's  foot,  which  is  not  given  in  the  bass-relief. 

I  had  the  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  some  of 
the  learned  and  literary  persons  in  Madrid.  The  Swedish 
Minister  introduced  me  to  one  of  Spain's  most  prominent 
politicians  and  most  talented  authors,  the  Duke  de  Rivas. 
As  a  young  soldier,  as  the  advocate  for  the  Cortes-Constitu- 
tion in  1820,  when  the  revolution  broke  out;  as  a  minister, 
an  ambassador,  and  lastly  as  a  poet,  his  name  resounds  over 
the  Peninsula.  His  collected  works  are  given  in  four  vol- 


198  IN  SPAIN. 

umes.1  His  popular  work,  "  El  Moro  Exposito,''  and  not  less 
his  tragedy,  "  Don  Alvaro,"  made  the  greatest  possible  im- 
pression on  the  public.  I  was  received  with  great  cordiality 
by  the  old  man,  who  remembered  our  former  meeting  at 
Naples  when  he  was  the  Spanish  Minister  there.  He  spoke 
to  me  about  his  tragedy,  "  Don  Alvaro,"  which  he  had  lately 
rewritten  as  an  opera  for  the  composer  Verdi,  who  at  that 
time  was  expected  at  Madrid.  With  another  of  the  most 
distinguished  poets  of  Spain,  Don  Juan  Eugenio  Harzen- 
busch,  I  had  also  the  pleasure  of  becoming  acquainted.  His 
father  was  a  German,  his  mother  a  Spaniard.  Harzenbusch 
was  born  and  brought  up  in  Spain ;  his  father  intended  him 
for  the  church,  but  he  took  a  fancy  to  become  a  painter.  In 
this  profession,  however,  he  was  out  of  his  place.  Then  he 
commenced  writing  poems  and  dramatic  works,  and  he 
brought  forward  the  old  Spanish  comedies.  During  the 
bloody  period  of  1823,  his  father  lost  his  fortune,  and  became 
deranged.  The  young  Harzenbusch  had  then  to  resort  to  the 
trade  of  a  joiner,  in  order  to  maintain  his  father  and  himself, 
his  literary  earnings  being  by  no  means  sufficient  for  this 
purpose.  "Los  Amantes  de  Tern  el,"  written  and  brought 
out  in  1836,  was  his  first  original  work;  it  was  very  favorably 
received,  and  laid  the  foundation  for  a  more  fortunate  future. 
Several  excellent  dramatic  works  followed  ;  his  writings  in 
verse  and  prose  increased  rapidly,  and  among  these  was  par- 
ticularly celebrated  his  "  Cuentos  y  Fabulas  ; "  that,  especially, 
is  a  favorite  wherever  Spanish  is  read.  Some  years  ago  he 
obtained  a  situation  in  the  royal  library  at  Madrid,  and  during 
my  stay  there  he  was  named  first  librarian. 

A  letter  to  Harzenbusch  from  one  of  our  mutual  friends  at 
Malaga  procured  me  a  kind  reception ;  that  I  should  have 
,iad  without  any  introduction,  he  said,  and  expressed  with 
much  warmth  his  sympathy  with  me  as  a  brother  poet,  al- 
though he  knew  but  very  few  of  my  works.  Of  these,  as  far 
as  I  could  ascertain,  only  two  have  been  translated  into  Span- 
ish, "DEN  LILLE  PlGE  MED  SVOVLSTIKKERNE,  and  "  HOLGER 

DANSKE."     German  and   English  are  not   read   by  many  in 
Spain  ;  and  in  the  French  edition  I  am  very  badly  translated  — > 
1 "  Obras  completas  de  Don  Angel  de  Saavedra,  duque  de  Rivas." 


MADRID.  1 99 

tthole  sentences  misconstrued,  altered,  or  entirely  left  out. 
Harzenbusch  was  born  on  September  6,  1806.  He  has  a 
very  clever  countenance,  but  with  snow-white  hair  :  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  hear  him  speak,  with  all  the  fire  of  the  south, 
about  poetry  and  art.  He  was  engaged  in  a  work  relating  to 
Cervantes,  and  was,  at  the  same  time,  superintending  a  new 
edition  of  "  Don  Quixote."  Before  we  separated  he  gave  me, 
as  a  souvenir,  his  "  Cuentos  y  Fabulas,"  in  which  he  wrote 
some  kind  and  cordial  lines  addressed  to  me.  He  lived  fru- 
gally, but  surrounded  by  a  wealth  of  books  and  pictures. 
Harzenbusch  belongs  to  that  rather  rare  class  of  persons  to 
whom  one  feels  one's  self  immediately  attracted,  and  whom 
one  seems  to  have  known  a  long  time. 

The  author,  Don  Sinibaldo  de  Mas,  who  for  a  time  was  the 
Spanish  ambassador  at  China,  arranged  in  one  of  the  fondas 
in  Madrid  a  grand  dinner-party  for  me,  where  I  became  ac- 
quainted with  some  poets,  and  among  them  Don  Rafael 
Garcia  y  Santesteban,  the  author  of  "  El  Ramo  de  Ortigas," 
and  several  zarzuelas.  Most  friendly  agreeable  people  they 
all  were,  full  of  enthusiastic  feeling,  and  with  the  amiable 
Spanish  desire  to  show  attention  to  strangers.  Unwearied  in 
this  was  especially  one  of  my  new  young  friends,  Jacobo  Zobel 
Zangroniz,  from  Manilla  ;  he  seemed  to  have  taken  quite  a 
fancy  to  me,  and  sought  every  opportunity  to  make  my  stay 
in  Madrid  pleasant. 

It  had  been  at  one  time  my  intention  to  have  remained 
here  until  after  Christmas  and  New  Year's  Day ;  but,  notwith- 
standing that  I  had  by  degrees  made  many  interesting  ac- 
quaintances, had  met  with  much  kindness,  had  the  opera,  the 
picture-gallery,  and  every  Sunday,  if  I  chose,  a  bull-fight,  I 
could  not  prevail  on  myself  to  remain  here  longer  than  for 
three  weeks.  Some  days  out  of  these  weeks  were  devoted  to 
an  excursion  to  Toledo.  The  climate  of  Madrid  was  un- 
bearable —  snow  find  rain  by  turns  ;  it  is  never  worse  at  this 
time  of  the  year  even  at  home.  And  if  a  few  days  happened 
to  be  dry  and  clear,  then  the  wind  was  so  piercing,  so  severe, 
so  irritating  to  the  nerves,  you  had  a  feeling  that  you  were 
going  to  be  wind-dried  into  a  mummy. 


2OO  IN  SPAIN. 

The  visit  to  Toledo  was  quite  exhilarating  and  refreshing. 
There  one  was  again  in  a  real  Spanish  town.  It  possessed 
all  that  was  wanting  in  Madrid  —  the  character  of  the  capital 
of  the  country :  picturesque  and  replete  with  poetry  is  the  old 
Toledo. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

TOLEDO. 

WE  left  Madrid  by  the  morning  train,  and  went  to  Aran- 
juez  by  the  Valencia  line,  from  whence  a  branch  rail- 
way goes  on  to  Toledo.  We  traversed  the  far-spreading  cam- 
pagna  by  daylight ;  it  looked  better  than  it  has  the  reputation 
of  being :  it  is  not  entirely  a  desert,  but  resembles  a  vast  tract 
of  land  belonging  to  some  property ;  many  portions  of  it  are 
Built  upon,  and  the  rest  will  be  in  time. 

Near  Aranjuez  the  neighborhood  assumes  quite  a  Danish 
character :  it  has  trees  with  thick  foliage,  and  copsewood ;  a 
park,  intersected  by  canals,  and  inclosing  several  small  lakes. 
When  we  saw  it,  it  had  a  cold,  northern,  autumn  aspect. 

The  well-built  little  town,  with  its  palace  and  square  in  front, 
and  park,  seemed  to  be  longing  for  inhabitants ;  it  was  very 
charming  here,  but  solitary  and  deserted,  looking  much  like  a 
country-house  which  the  family  has  left.  Beneath  these  an- 
cient trees  it  was  that  Philip  II.  spent  his  "happy  days." 
Here,  on  the  small  lake  in  the  garden,  Charles  IV.  had  his 
playthings  —  a  diminutive  fleet,  with  which  he  used  to  amuse 
himself. 

The  appearance  of  the  country  completely  changes  between 
Aranjuez  and  Toledo ;  .you  might  almost  fancy  yourself  trans- 
ported to  the  campagna  around  Rome,  the  yellow  Tagus  so 
greatly  resembled  the  Tiber. 

We  flew  past  solitary  farms  and  deserted  cottages ;  gay 
groups  of  men  and  women  were  lounging  at  every  stopping- 
place  ;  lively  looVing,  black-eyed  damsels  nodded  from  the  bal- 
conies. Upon  this  line  it  seemed  as  if  the  greater  number  of 
the  railway  servants  were  women  ;  every  few  minutes  we  saw 
a  mother,  with  a  tribe  of  children  sprawling  round  her  or  hold- 
ing fast  to  her  dress,  rise  up,  and  stretch  forth,  in  the  direction 
that  the  train  was  rushing,  a  rolled-up  flag. 


2O2  IN  SPAIN. 

Toward  evening  we  reached  the  station  at  Toledo,  and 
there  got  into  an  omnibus,  which  crawled  along  an  even,  ex- 
cellent road  between  masses  of  naked  rock,  past  a  large  ruin  ; 
and  before  us  lay,  picturesque  beyond  description,  the  ancient 
lordly  city  —  Toledo.  We  drove  across  the  giddily  high  Al- 
cantara Bridge  ;  far  beneath  us  roared  the  rushing  stream,  that 
turns  two  or  three  brick  water-mills  which  have  been  erected 
on  the  banks,  but  look  as  if  they  had  been  left  on  the  ground 
after  an  inundation.  In  the  river  itself  there  were  the  ruins  of 
buildings  several  stories  high ;  the  running  stream  flowed 
through  the  spaces  where  the  lower  windows  had  been,  through 
the  roofless  rooms  and  out  again.  Immediately  in  front  of  us, 
towering  above  the  old  yellowish-gray  ruined  walls  rose  the 
city  itself,  as  if  clinging  to  the  heights,  and  crowned  on  the 
summit  by  the  ruins  of  the  Alcazar,  the  palace  of  Charles  III., 
upon  which  the  Spaniards  themselves  fired  when  the  French 
occupied  it  during  the  war  of  independence. 

Upon  .the  other  side  of  the  Alcantara  Bridge,  below  the  walls 
of  the  city,  the  road  took  a  turn,  and  we  came  upon  another 
picturesque  view,  which,  as  we  ascended  higher,  unfolded  itself 
more  and  more.  Old  cloisters  and  ruined  churches  presented 
themselves  to  our  gaze ;  a  wilderness  of  stones  and  a  sun- 
scorched  landscape  covered  the  far- stretch  ing  campagna.  The 
only  sign  of  life  to  be  seen  was  a  drove  of  raven-black  swine, 
which  happened  at  that  moment  to  be  driven  down  to  the 
Tagus  to  drink,  or  to  be  washed  there ;  but  we  did  not  see 
that ;  the  road  again  branched  off  in  another  direction,  and  we 
gained  a  wide  terrace,  with  a  brick-work  balustrade,  and  pass- 
ing through  the  gate  Puerta  del  Sol,  the  architecture  of  which 
is  magnificent,  we  found  ourselves  in  Toledo.  The  streets 
are  narrow,  the  Alameda  small  and  confined.  There  were  a 
few  trees,  some  benches  of  brick,  and  one  or  two  most  miser- 
able-looking shops ;  two  soldiers  and  a  dirty  little  vagabond 
were  the  only  human  beings  we  saw.  The  street  was  steep  to 
a  degree  ;  we  soon  came  to  a  stand-still,  for  the  omnibus  could 
go  no  farther.  Our  effects  were  carried  through  a  narrow  lane 
leading  precipitously  downward,  and  having  a  horrible  pave- 
ment, and  thus  we  reached  the  fonda  that  had  been  recom- 
mended to  us.  Two  donkeys  were  standing  in  the  lobby ;  they 


TOLEDO. 


203 


and  a  few  fowls  received  us  ;  a  girl  put  her  head  out  of  a  door, 
but  drew  it  in  again.  Soon,  however,  the  senora  made  her 
appearance ;  she  had  a  pleasant  countenance,  which  lighted  up 
with  pleasure  when  we  gave  her  kind  greetings  from  Jacobo 
Kornerup,  from  Denmark.  Our  countryman  had  resided  a 
long  time  in  this  house,  and  was  much  liked  by  the  family. 

We  got  two  cold  bedrooms,  adjoining  an  immensely  large 
sitting-room,  into  which  a  brazero  was  brought,  for  it  was  so 
intensely  cold  that  we  could  see  our  own  breaths.  The 
servants  of  the  establishment  hurried  about  to  make  things 
comfortable  for  us ;  the  oldest  fowl  was  killed,  three  large 
onions  were  peeled,  the  oil  in  the  little  pitcher  was  shaken, 
and  breakfast,  the  most  frugal  that  we  had  ever  partaken  of  in 
Spain,  was  brought  to  us ;  but  then  it  must  be  said  everything 
was  marvelously  cheap.  We  were  with  excellent  people  ;  and 
what  was  most  important,  Toledo  is  a  city  in  which  there  is 
something  to  be  seen. 

We  went  without  delay  up  to  the  Alcazar.  Wamba,  the 
king  of  the  Goths,  was  the  first  who  erected  a  castle  here  ;  at 
later  periods  it  was  rebuilt  and  increased  by  Moorish  and  Cas- 
tilian  kings.  Charles  III.  invested  it  with  the  grandeur  which 
even  now,  notwithstanding  the  destruction  and  ruin  which 
it  has  sustained,  astonished  us.  Vaulted  cellars  stretch 
beneath  the  castle  and  the  castle-yard,  occupying  such  an 
enormous  space  that  several  regiments  at  the  same  time 
made  use  of  them  as  stables.  The  court  forms  a  large  square, 
surrounded  by  arcades  supported  by  tall  granite  pillars ;  the 
lowest  row  still  remains  untouched,  but  the  story  above  pos- 
sesses merely  one  simple  row  of  pillars,  naked  walls  with  open 
stone  window-frames,  and  jutting  out  balconies  without  balus- 
trades. Some  goats  were  springing  about  up  yonder,  and 
gazing  down  upon  us  with  much  curiosity.  The  heavy  marble 
steps  looked  as^f  they  were  going  to  fall  down.  All  within 
presented  a  picture  of  ruin  and  desolation.  One  wing  alone 
is  still  inhabitable.  There  were  soldiers  quartered  in  it ;  we 
saw  them  in  undress  and  in  full  dress,  in  red  trousers,  brown 
coats,  and  white  shakos,  like  the  uniform  of  the  regiment 
Cordova ;  a  few  of  them  were  engaged  digging  the  ground  in 
the  garden  plot  upon  the  large  terrace  in  the  direction  of  the 
Alcantara  Bridge. 


2O4 


IN  SPAIN. 


On  this  side  the  facade  of  the  Alcazar  is  in  better  preserva- 
tion ;  every  story  is  adorned  with  statues  and  decorations,  but 
it  is  only  a  mere  shell,  behind  which  the  hand  of  destruction 
has  done  sad  havoc.  From  the  terrace  you  gaze  beyond  the 
decayed  and  in  many  places  fallen  walls  of  the  town,  over  the 
Tagus  with  its  ruins  of  bridges  and  buildings.  Water-mills 
with  green  mouldy  walls  lay  upon  the  shore,  as  if  they  had 
slipped  down  into  the  stream,  which  threatened  to  carry  them 
away  in  its  current.  Upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  Alcantara 
Bridge  you  see  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  citadel  San  Cervantes ; 
we  were  told  that  the  author  of  "  Don  Quixote  "  had  here  lost 
an  arm  for  his  father-land,  but  this  is  false,  and  is  quite  con- 
trary to  the  historical  account. 

Greenish-gray,  bare  masses  of  rock  lie  here  as  if  flung  down 
in  wild  confusion,  or  as  if  the  stony  ground  had  been  forci- 
bly torn  up ;  no  earthquake  could  have  so  thoroughly  broken 
it  into  pieces.  A  narrow  pathway  wound  along  the  banks  of 
the  river,  affording  ever-changing,  highly-picturesque  views. 
You  pass  solitary  brick  water-mills ;  the  path  narrows  until  it 
looks  like  a  mere  line  overhanging  the  yellow  torrent,  which 
here  forms  one  fall  after  another ;  you  ascend  amidst  bare 
blocks  of  stone :  not  a  tree,  not  a  bush  is  to  be  seen  ;  it  is  as 
if  you  wandered  in  a  deserted  quarry.  Suddenly  the  very 
pathway  ceases  —  no  house,  no  being,  is  to  be  descried  far  or 
near  ;  you  find  yourself  in  a  wilderness  of  stones  ;  but,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  rears  itself  proudly  the  picturesque, 
glorious  Toledo  —  a  stupendous  ruin,  and  the  higher  Alcazar 
represents  its  royal  crown. 

The  whole  space  between  the  Alcantara  Bridge  and  the 
San  Martin  Bridge  presents  an  appearance  of  uninterrupted 
solitude  and  dreariness,  but  at  the  same  time  a  vastness  that 
is  overwhelming,  and  almost  terrifying.  Not  a  living  soul  did 
we  behold  all  that  long  way ;  not  a  bird  sang  nor  flew  past  us. 
It  was  not  until  we  reached  the  San  Martin  Bridge  that  we 
again  saw  human  beings.  Some  armed  peasants  with  their 
mules  rode  slowly  down  the  public  high-road,  which  presently 
degenerated  into  a  mountain  path,  scarcely  wide  enough  to 
hold  a  carriage. 

Through  the  damp  city  gate  near  the  Martin  Bridge  we  again 


TOLEDO.  2O5 

entered  the  town  ;  roads  and  paths  crossing  each  other  in  all 
directions,  led  up,  over  heaps  of  rubbish  and  the  remains  of 
buildings,  to  the  church  San  Juan  de  los  Reges ;  its  red  walls 
are  hung  with  heavy  iron  chains :  from  these  Christian  prison- 
ers were  released  when  the  Moors  were  driven  forth.  Within 
the  church  there  are  many  old  reminiscences :  high  up  under 
the  vault,  supported  by  pillars  of  masonry,  is  the  pew  in  which 
Isabella  and  Ferdinand  attended  mass  ;  beneath  this  stands  a 
wooden  figure  representing  the  prophet  Elias,  celebrated  on 
account  of  the  beauty  and  minuteness  of  the  carving :  it  is  a 
perfect  work  of  art ;  the  folds  of  the  drapery  are  astonishingly 
smooth  and  delicately  executed,  and  the  countenance  of  the 
prophet  life-like  in  the  extreme.  A  light  was  held  before  the 
mouth  of  the  image,  and  we  saw  the  teeth  and  tongue  cut  in  a 
most  artistic  manner. 

Close  to  the  church  was  an  extensive  monastery  court,  which 
might  indeed  be  called  a  garden,  it  was  so  full  of  orange-trees  ,• 
roses  blossomed  also  here,  but  there  was  no  musical  water, 
the  basins  were  half-filled  with  hard  earth  and  withered  leaves  \ 
all  around  lay  scattered  pieces  of  ornamental  work  that  had 
been  broken  off;  the  open,  elegant,  arched  galleries  were 
scarcely  passable,  such  masses  of  cornices,  altar-pictures,  and 
torsos  of  saints  in  stone  were  strewed  about ;  spiders'  webs 
hung  like  crape  veils  over  these  venerable  remains. 

In  several  adjoining  streets  we  found  the  same  desolation 
and  decay ;  for  long  tracts  not  a  gate  nor  a  door  is  to  be 
seen.  Here  and  there,  high  up,  is  a  window  well  barred 
across,  in  prison-like  solitude  !  No  being  was  discernible  ;  a 
small  path,  bordered  by  grayish  walls,  inclined  upward  be- 
tween heaps  of  earth  and  gloomy,  solitarily  situated  houses. 
Before  a  low  insignificant  door,  in  a  wall  crumbling  in  decay, 
stood  an  old  woman  with  a  large  key  in  her  hand  ;  she  opened 
the  door  of  a  building  half  buried  in  rubbish  and  ruins  ;  we 
sntered,  and  found  ourselves  in  a  magnificent  Moorish  hall, 
with  light,  graceful  bass-reliefs,  and  lace-like  carvings  on  the 
walls ;  the  ceiling  supported  by  marble  columns,  the  floor  en- 
tirely of  mosaic:  but  no  one  dwelt  here.  Spiders  spin  their 
fine  silken  webs  across  the  entrance-hall ;  these  we  for  the 
moment  destroyed. 


2O6  IN  SPAIN. 

This  was  the  Jewish  quarter  of  the  town,  once  the  richest 
part  of  Toledo  ;  the  most  wealthy  Israelites  in  Spain  lived 
here  ;  it  is  even  said  that  they  built  Toledo.  So  much  is  cer- 
tain, however,  that  in  this  city  they  enjoyed  many  more  priv- 
ileges than  they  did  in  any  other  place  ;  here  they  were  per- 
mitted to  erect  several  synagogues,  outwardly  insignificant,  but 
resplendent  with  pomp  and  magnificence  within.  Two  syna- 
gogues are  still  preserved  as  Christian  churches,  Nuestra  Se- 
fiora  del  Transito,  and  Santa  Maria  la  Blanca  ;  the  last  named 
is  the  most  beautiful,  a  temple  of  God  retaining  all  the  stately 
costliness  of  the  days  of  Solomon.  Amidst  the  ingenious 
carvings  upon  the  walls,  which  resemble  embroidery  upon  lace, 
Scripture  sentences  in  Hebrew  are  entwined ;  from  the  gor- 
geous summit  of  the  pillars  rises  the  horseshoe-formed  vault, 
so  light  that  it  seems  suspended  in  the  air.  The  temple  still 
stands,  but  the  people  of  Israel  have  disappeared  :  their  well- 
arranged  buildings  lie  all  around  in  ruins,  and  in  their  stead 
are  found  miserable  hovels.  Bright  lizards  streaked  with  gold 
and  colors,  now  sprang  out  of  their  hiding-places  in  this  ground 
replete  with  reminiscences.  Here  the  people  of  Israel  lived 
and  enjoyed  their  faith  and  customs  ;  these  were  tolerated  for 
a  time,  but  the  days  of  tribulation  came  ;  they  were  scoffed  at, 
and  ill-treated  in  the  most  shameful  manner  by  the  Christians  ; 
therefore  the  people  of  Israel  turned  against  the  Christians  by 
betraying  them  to  the  Moors,  and,  for  many  generations,  the 
Christians  revenged  themselves  upon  the  whole  race  for  this 
act  of  perfidy.  What  horrors,  what  cries  of  distress,  what 
tears  this  ground  has  not  witnessed  ! 

In  the  midst  of  the  heaps  of  rubbish  up  here  lay  an  over- 
turned granite  pillar ;  upon  it,  in  the  centre  of  this  desert,  sat 
a  solitary,  old  blind  beggar,  wrapped  in  his  tattered  mantle 
his  features  were  noble ;  his  white  hair  hung  over  his  shoul- 
ders. This  figure,  in  such  a  spot,  brought  to  my  memory  a 
picture  which  I  had  seen  —  the  prophet  Jeremiah  amidst  the 
ruins  of  Jerusalem.  I  wonder  if  the  old  man  had  caused 
himself  to  be  guided  up  here  to  pray  God  to  effect  a  miracle 
by  sending  some  one  past  who  would  bestow  a  trifle  upon 
him  ;  it  truly  looked  as  if  no  being  ever  came  near  this  place. 


TOLEDO. 


207 


A  large  bird  of  prey  flew  over  us,  as  safe  here  as  if  it  had  been 
in  a  wilderness. 

Not  far  from  here  is  situated  the  celebrated  manufactory  of 
Toledo,  in  which  Damascus  blades,  swords,  daggers,  and 
knives  are  forged ;  it  stands  close  to  the  Tagus,  in  the  lonely 
campagna.  There  is  a  shorter  way  leading  to  it  over  the 
Martin  Bridge,  and  passing  more  than  one  point  full  of  inter- 
est. Out  in  the  water  protrude  the  remains  of  old  walls  ;  they 
once  inclosed  the  very  bath-room  in  which  Count  Julian's 
pretty  daughter,  Florinda,  sought  to  refresh  herself,  playing 
the  naiad,  and  thus  was  seen  by  the  king  of  the  Goths,  Don 
Rodrigo.  Upon  the  small  island  near  by  stood  his  handsome 
castle,  of  which  but  one  solitary  tower  still  remains.  It  was 
from  this  he  beheld  the  young  girl  bathing.  He  got  her  into 
nis  power,  like  Don  Juan  his  "  thousand  and  three  ; "  but  her 
father  revenged  this  disgrace  by  calling  the  Moors  over  from 
Africa,  and  expelling  the  Goths  and  their  king. 

I  know  no  place  more  solitary  than  the  broad  carriage-road 
close  under  the  ancient  walls  of  Toledo,  and  the  view  from  it 
was  equally  dreary.  The  campagna  looked  so  dismal,  the  dark 
distant  mountains  frowned  threateningly,  everything  inspired 
you  with  grave  and  melancholy  thoughts  ;  I  felt  as  if  I  were  by 
the  side  of  a  bier  upon  which  was  stretched  out  the  corpse  of 
an  eminent  personage.  The  ringing  of  the  church-bells  of 
Toledo  were  the  only  sounds  there  appertaining  to  life. 

Strangely  mysterious  sounded  in  the  still  night  hours  the 
tolling  of  one  peculiar  bell ;  it  had  a  singular  deep  tone,  hoarse 
and  gloomy:  it  made  me  think  of  the  death  bells  for  the  autos- 
da-fe  ;  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  silent  phantoms  in  the  proces- 
sion of  "  the  holy  brotherhood  "  were  sweeping  past  my  win- 
dow. 

In  the  bright  day-time  two  church  bells  pealed  so  merrily, 
so  sweetly.  They  distinctly  uttered  names  which  rang  into 
my  ear ;  the  one  bell  sang  "  Bianca !  Bianca  ! "  the  other  sang 
"  Sancho  !  Sancho  !  "  Yes,  thus,  and  thus  only,  did  it  sound  ; 
of  whom  did  the  bells  wish  to  remind  one  by  repeating  these 
names  ?  Nobody  was  able  to  tell  me ;  but  much  has  taken 
place  in  the  world,  of  which  there  is  neither  story  nor  record 


2O8  IN  SPAIN. 

In  the  midst  of  my  reflections  upon  the  tones  of  the  bells,  it 
appeared  to  me  as  if  the  pavements  and  the  street  again  echoed 
with  the  trampling  of  horses,  as  if  noble  knights  dashed  past 
upon  their  high-spirited  chargers,  with  flowing  manes  and  fine 
strong  legs ;  the  heavy  iron  hammer  sounded  from  the  work- 
shop of  the  armorer  ;  lovely  women  stepped  out  upon  the  bal- 
conies, and  sang  and  played  upon  the  lute. 

Of  all  the  bells  of  Toledo  none  is  so  large  or  so  marvelous 
as  that  of  the  cathedral.  Fifteen  shoemakers,  they  say,  could 
sit  under  it,  and  draw  out  their  cobbler's  thread  without  touch- 
ing each  other.  Legend  relates  that  the  sound  of  this  bell 
reached  even  to  heaven.  St.  Peter  fancied  the  tones  came 
from  his  own  church  in  Rome  j  but  on  ascertaining  that  this 
was  not  the  case,  and  that  Toledo  possessed  the  largest  of  all 
bells,  he  got  angry,  and  flung  down  one  of  his  keys  upon  it, 
thus  causing  a  crack  in  the  bell,  which  is  still  to  be  seen.  Had 
I  been  St.  Peter,  and  with  the  feelings  I  have  now,  I  would 
rather  have  cast  the  key  upon  the  head  of  him  whom  I  knew 
had  been  the  originator  of  this  story. 

Thus  much  is  certain,  the  mighty  bell  of  the  cathedral  is  the 
sign  of  life  in  Toledo  ;  the  church  itself  is  the  only  place  where 
one  may  hope  to  see  one's  fellow-creatures  ;  in  the  streets,  upon 
the  Alameda,  none  are  to  be  found.  Architects  say  that  the 
cathedral  is,  on  account  of  its  antiquity  and  its  style,  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  in  the  country.  The  town  hall,  which 
lies  immediately  in  front  of  the  cathedral,  is  a  low  awkward 
building ;  I  do  not  know  to  what  style  it  can  be  said  to  belong, 
except,  perhaps,  it  may  partake  of  the  style  of  square  furni- 
ture :  it  looks  like  a  chest  of  drawers  with  two  drawers,  the 
lowest  having  been  taken  out.  The  people  only  make  their 
appearance  upon  the  plaza  when  they  come  out  of  church. 
What  grandeur  and  magnificence  within  !  Arches  tower  to  a 
giddy  height,  ornamented  with  cunningly  carved  twining  leaves. 
The  daylight  streams  through  brightly  painted  window-panes. 
All  around  in  the  aisles  stand  altar  after  altar  ;  a  crowd  of 
pious  people,  the  greater  number  women,  wrapped  in  their 
black  mantillas,  are  kneeling  within.  We  saw  them  bending 
low  and  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  as  they  passed  what 
appeared,  to  our  Protestant  eyes,  to  be  an  ordinary  common 


TOLEDO.  2O9 

pavement  stone,  which  was  preserved  in  one  of  the  altars 
behind  a  slight  iron  grating.  Upon  this  stone  the  Virgin 
Mary  had  set  her  foot  when  she  descended  from  heaven  to 
visit  the  pious  of  Toledo,  —  thu ;  runs  the  legend.  The  organ 
pealed  forth,  hymns  of  praise  streamed  through  the  vast  space, 
the  ringing  of  bells  penetrated  even  within  ;  silently  we  wan- 
dered along  the  aisles  filled  with  incense,  and  gazed  through 
the  gilt  railings  into  the  gorgeous  chapels,  resplendent  in 
beauty  and  wealth ;  the  walls  dazzled  the  eye  with  the  brilliant 
colors  and  carved  images.  The  light  of  day  beamed  through 
the  gaudily  painted  panes  down  upon  the  marble  sarcophagi. 

As  we  left  the  sacred  edifice,  the  great  bell  rang  forth  its 
last  peals  for  that  day's  service  ;  the  echoed  tones  vibrated 
long  upon  the  air,  then  succeeded  a  deathlike  stillness,  solitude 
brooded  over  town  and  country,  life  glided  into  repose,  into 
that  silent  slumber  which  told  of  ages  gone  by. 

With  regret  one  leaves  Toledo.  It  is  sad  to  tear  one's  self 
away  with  the  thought  never  to  return  here  again,  never  to  see 
this  spot  again,  which  in  so  strange  a  manner  had  awakened 
our  sympathy.  But  I  shall  often  see  it  again  in  fancy,  and 
sing  as  now  :  — 

Thou  chivalrous  Toledo  —  hail  ! 

Thou  quaint  old  town  of  bygone  days  ; 
Where  the  Moorish  sword-blades  shone,1 

Which  all  the  world  had  learned  to  praise. 

Here  naught  but  solitude  now  reigns  : 

Decayed  —  deserted  —  silent  all  1 
While  Alcazar's  windows  and  doors 

From  their  old  rusty  hinges  fall. 

A  lordly  castle  once,  is  now 

A  common  inn,  in  vulgar  hands, 
Yet  still  the  ancient  coat  of  arms 

Over  the  open  portal  stands. 

These  naked,  gray-green,  gloomy  rocks 
That  from  the  banks  of  Tagus  rise, 

1  This  alludes  probably  to  the  ancient  Moorish  manufactory  of  swords 
at  Toledo,  which  has  since  been  revived.  —  Trans. 
14 


2IO 

They  jtnow  the  buoyant,  stirring  past, 
Where  now  but  desolation  lies. 

Where  once  Mohammed's  name  was  pealed. 
And  to  Jehovah  hymns  were  sung, 

The  locomotive's  noise  alone 
Is  heard  these  solitudes  among. 

It  passes  —  all  is  still  again  ! 

Still  as  where  death  its  dark  shade  flings  ; 
But  gayly  smiles  the  lovely  vine 

That  round  the  ancient  gateway  clings. 

And  here,  behind  that  latticed  window 
A  lovely  face  looked  down  on  me  ; 

Its  beauteous,  coal-black,  speaking  eye», 
In  fancy  oft  again  I'll  see  ! 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BURGOS. 

BY  train  it  is  only  a  few  hours'  journey  from  Toledo  to 
Madrid.  Our  stay  in  the  latter  place  was  prolonged  a 
fortnight ;  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  tear  one's  self  from  Murillo's 
and  Velasquez's  glorious  pictures  ;  it  was  hard  to  say  adieu  to 
the  many  amiable  people  with  whom  I  had  become  acquainted. 
Still,  winter  was  approaching,  and  there  were  no  fire-places  in 
our  apartments  in  the  hotel ;  moreover,  the  wind  knew  to  a 
'nicety  exactly  where  to  find  each  little  nerve  in  one's  head, 
throat,  and  chest ;  this  wind  was  unbearable.  If  the  tempera- 
ture were  not  better  in  Burgos,  I  would  leave  Spain  at  the 
end  of  the  year  1862  and  betake  myself  to  the  south  of 
France,  where  the  climate  is  mild  and  pleasant. 

The  Swedish  Consul-general,  his  Excellence  Bergman,  was 
most  amiable,  and  to  the  very  last  unremitting  in  his  attention 
to  us.  When  we  were  going  away,  old  man  as  he  was,  he 
came  to  us  in  the  waiting-room,  and  remained  there,  and 
among  the  crowd  in  the  open  street,  until  we  started ;  also 
Herr  Zobel  from  Manilla  and  some  other  young  authors,  my 
friends  in  Spain,  cried  farewell  after  me.  I  had  become  quite 
attached  to  Madrid  on  account  of  the  pleasant  life  I  led 
there. 

The  railway  to  France  as  far  as  Bayonne  has  still  many 
interruptions :  we  soon  became  aware  of  this ;  for  we  had  to 
get  out  at  the  Escurial,  Spain's  Roeskilde,  the  royal  Spanish 
mausoleum.  The  silence  of  death  dwelt  in  these  halls,  in 
these  royal  tombs,  in  the  town  itself,  and  in  the  country 
around. 

Life  is  awakened  here  only  when  the  princely  vaults  are 
opened  to  receive  a  new  coffin ;  then  bells  ring,  and  trumpets 
are  sounded  ;  then  viands  are  cooked  in  the  large  kitchens  to 
strengthen  the  mourners,  who  return  again  to  life. 


212  IN  Sf  ILV. 

Philip  II.  ordered  the  Escurial  to  be  built  as  his  own  tomb. 
The  glowing  gridiron  upon  which  Saint  Laurentius  was 
burned  alive  by  the  pagans,  became  a  holy  symbol.  The 
Escurial  was  built  in  imitation  of  its  form  ;  its  courts  and 
edifices  resemble  the  shape  of  an  immense  gridiron.  Beneath 
this  reposes  the  royal  corpse,  over  it  whistles  the  wind  in 
violent  gusts,  from  the  dreary,  wild  Guadarama  Mountains  ; 
moaning  and  wailing  are  these  tones,  but  there  are  no  howl 
ing  spirits  in  the  storm,  nor  do  they  murmur  through  the 
foliage  of  the  forest ;  but  spirits  murmur  through  the  leaves 
of  history,  and  tell  of  the  deeds  of  Philip  II.  Blood  was  the 
fountain  which  he  made  to  flow  in  Spain,  and  in  the  Nether- 
lands ;  yes,  far  and  wide  upon  the  earth  he  reigned,  the  sun 
never  went  down  upon  his  vast  domains  ;  his  cruel  dark 
deeds  glowed  like  the  funeral  piles  of  the  auto-da-fe',  while  re- 
quiems were  being  read  till  the  day  of  judgment. 

Beneath  the  many  riches  of  the  high  altar,  side  by  side, 
and  in  black  marble  coffins,  repose  the  royal  bodies.  Dismal 
and  deserted  are  the  innumerable  cells  of  monks  down  in  the 
vaults  of  the  edifice.  This  vast  stone-built  building  tells  of 
greatness  and  death. 

It  was  a  dark  gloomy  evening  when  we  left  the  Escurial ; 
the  wind  howled.  From  the  comfortable  railway  carriage  we 
were  packed  into  a  confined  diligence,  and  were  condemned 
to  endure  it  until  dawn  of  day.  Snow  lay  all  around  ;  the 
wind  poured  in  upon  us  through  cracks  and  crevices  in  the 
miserable  conveyance.  I  wrapped  myself  in  my  plaid  and  sat 
there  as  in  a  sack  ;  the  searching  wind  was  not  felt  quite  so 
much  by  this  means.  A  little  child  was  in  the  carriage  with 
us ;  it  cried  and  screamed  all  night  long.  A  snow-storm 
came  on  ;  it  beat  upon  the  diligence  as  if  it  would  overturn 
it :  now,  to  add  to  our  miseiy,  a  window-pane  broke,  the  glass 
rell  out,  and  a  gush  of  wind  drove  the  snow  in  upon  us.  An 
old  mantle  was  obliged  to  be  fastened  up  before  the  window, 
we  sat  literally  "  in  the  dark  valley  ; "  and  the  coach  swung 
about  and  jogged  so  dreadfully  that  there  could  be  no 
thought  of  sleep  or  rest,  but  rather  of  broken  arms  and 
legs. 

At  length,  at  San  Chidrian,  we  again  reached  the  railroad 


BURGOS.  2  I  3 

but  the  train  did  not  start  for  some  hours  after  our  arrival. 
We  were  obliged  to  wait  in  a  large  cold  wooden  shed,  where 
everything  was  in  great  confusion  ;  we  got  some  hard  stale 
bread,  and  some  thin  chocolate,  but  even  that  was  badly 
made. 

The  signal-bell  rung,  we  crept  into  the  carriages,  the  loco- 
motive puffed  and  snorted,  and  we  flew  along  in  the  morning 
twilight  over  the  flat  landscape.  The  snow  lay  in  all  direc- 
tions drifted  into  heaps  :  now  we  passed  a  vineyard,  then  yon- 
der stood  a  solitary  pine-tree  ;  it  doubtless  thought  as  I  did  : 
"  Am  I  really  in  Spain,  in  one  of  the  warm  countries  ?  " 

The  clock  struck  twelve  before  we  reached  Burgos.  For  a 
long  time  past  the  two  gigantic  towers  of  the  vast  cathedral 
had  been  visible  to  us,  but  as  we  approached  nearer  they  ap- 
peared to  sink,  and  to  be  smothered  among  the  numberless 
old  houses  of  the  town  which  surrounded  them. 

We  proceeded  to  the  Fonda  de  la  Rafaela  ;  the  snow  was 
high  in  the  streets.  It  was  bitterly  cold  here  ;  the  wind  blew 
in  upon  us  through  every  creak  and  corner ;  the  rooms  and 
the  passages  were  filled  with  frightful  draughts.  We  here  met 
some  travellers  from  Pamplona  and  Saragossa  ;  they  told  us 
that  the  whole  of  the  north  of  Spain  was  covered  with  snow, 
and  go  where  you  would  it  would  be  as  cold  and  disagreeable. 
I  looked  down  upon  the  street  from  my  balcony  door ;  the 
people  were  wading  through  the  deep  snow ;  large  heavy 
flakes  fell  without  intermission,  just  as  they  fall  at  Christmas 
time  in  our  home.  We  were  bitterly  cold,  but  we  had  no  fire- 
places ;  therefore  a  brazero  was  brought  in,  and  over  the 
glowing  coals  we  were  obliged  to  warm  our  hands  and  feet. 

The  two  poor  tortoises  that  Collin  had  brought  with  him 
from  Africa  crept  quite  under  the  brazero,  and  got  their  shells 
entirely  warmed  through. 

We  wanted  to  visit  the  Cid's  grave  in  the  ancient  Benedic- 
tine monastery,  outside  of  the  town  :  we  also  wished  to  see  the 
cathedral,  but  it  was  no  weather  for  going  out  or  making  ex- 
cursions ;  perhaps  it  might  be  better  the  next  day. 

Ah,  what  may  not  happen  or  have  happened,  when  the  mor- 
row comes  !  My  travelling  companion  and  myself  had  very 
nearly  entered  upon  the  great  journey  into  eternity  ;  but  such 


214  IN  SPAIN. 

an  occurrence  must  be  related  in  verse ;  I  wrote  it  down  with 
frozen,  death-cold  hands. 

Without  the  snow  is  drifting  past ; 

Half  an  ell  high,  at  least,  it  lies ; 
In  flakes  against  the  panes  'tis  cast ; 

To  enter  through  the  doors  it  tries. 

A  brazier's  brought  to  warm  me  now  — 
Its  smoke  augments  the  cheerless  gloom; 

Stove  of  the  North  !  O,  would  that  thou 
Could  make  a  visit  to  my  room  ! 

There's  scarcely  warmth  within  my  bed, 

Although  to  seek  it  there  I  try. 
But  what  is  this  ?  how  aches  my  head ! 

With  beating  pulses,  how  I  lie  ! 

Sleep  steals  upon  me,  and  a  dream 

It  brings  ;  to  yon  monastic  fane 
Transported  suddenly  I  seem, 

Where  the  Cid's  ashes  long  have  lain. 

Wrapped  in  a  winding-sheet  of  snow 

I  lie,  close  to  the  open  grave : 
And  thither  downward  must  I  go  ? 

And  are  there  none  my  life  to  save  ? 

Now  they  fit  on  the  coffin-lid ; 

And  now  to  screw  it  down  prepare : 
Confined  in  it  must  I  be  hid  ? 

I  strive,  I  fight  for  life  and  air. 

What  heavy  weight  is  o'er  me  flung  ? 

From  the  brazier's  embers  stealing, 
A  form  of  vapor  o'er  me  hung, 

Causing  a  faint  and  deathlike  feeling. 

It  placed  one  foot  upon  my  breast  — 

One  hand  upon  my  mouth  it  laid  ; 
And  soon  to  my  eternal  rest 

Me  would  that  spectre  have  conveyed. 

1  left  my  coffin  at  a  bound, 

And  to  the  nearest  window  flew  : 
Twas  opened  —  and  in  Spanish  ground 

Once  more  my  breath  in  peace  I  drew  ! 


BURGOS.  2  I  5 

We  were  very  nearly  stifled  by  the  charcoal.  I  awoke  with 
a  pressure  on  the  pit  of  the  stomach,  and  racking  pains  in  the 
head  ;  I  called  to  Collin,  but  he  was  in  a  worse  state  than  my- 
self. It  was  only  with  the  greatest  exertion  I  was  able  to  get 
out  of  bed,  and  reeling  about  like  an  intoxicated  person,  I 
reached  the  doors  of  the  balcony  ;  they  were  locked.  I  was 
seized  with  anxiety,  every  limb  seemed  paralyzed ;  but  I 
gathered  all  my  strength  together,  and  at  last  tore  the  doors 
open  ;  the  snow  drifted  in. 

The  whole  of  the  following  day  we  were  suffering  much,  and 
we  had  not  even  the  satisfaction  of  enjoying  better  weather. 
In  the  rain  and  the  thaw  we  waded  to  the  cathedral  which  is 
buried  amidst  houses  in  a  narrow  street,  but  is  large,  and 
possesses  numerous  splendid  monuments  and  chapels ;  hand- 
some and  worthy  of  such  a  church  is  also  the  sepulchre  of  the 
family  Velasco.  The  galleries  and  aisles  of  the  church  are 
crowded  with  marble  statues  and  bass-reliefs,  with  a  profusion  of 
pictures,  portraits  of  bishops  and  archbishops.  Hanging  up, 
under  lock  and  key,  there  is  what  appears  an  old  well-worn 
box,  or  rather  trunk  ;  according  to  tradition,  two  such  histor- 
ical relics  should  be  here. 

Two  Jews  the  Cid  had  called  to  him, 

And  with  ceremonies  great 
They  to  his  table  were  invited, 

And  treated  there  with  courteous  state. 

A  thousand  golden  pieces  he 

Desired  to  borrow,  and  he  offers 
In  security  for  these 

Two,  with  plate  well  laden,  coffers. 

But,  as  the  song  goes  on  to  state,  yet  excusing  him,  adds :  — 
'Twas  from  necessity  he  did  it  — 


.  The  heavy  chests 
The  Cid  had  only  filled  with  sand. 

Scarcely  an  hour's  journey  beyond  Burgos,  close  to  the 
railway,  is  situated  the  monastery  Cartuja  de  Miraflores ;  and 
a  short  distance  farther  on,  the  ancient  Benedictine  monastery 
"  San  Pedro  de  Cordonna,"  where  the  hero  Don  Rodrigo  Diaz 
del  Cid  and  his  high-minded  wife  Ximene  are  buried  :  thither  we 


2  1 6  IN  SPAIN. 

longed  to  go  ;  still,  though  we  remained  three  days  in  Burgos 
we  never  succeeded  in  seeing  the  Cid's  tomb.  There  was  no 
possibility  of  reaching  it  either  on  foot  or  by  carriage ;  the 
snow  lay  an  ell  high. 

Here,  in  this  neighborhood,  this  celebrated  hero  was  born 
in  1026 ;  he  spent  a  portion  of  his  days  in  Burgos.  The  re- 
mains of  his  house  are  yet  pointed  out  to  strangers,  and  a 
street  in  the  town  bears  his  name. 

The  snow  kept  us  prisoners  within  ;  and  in  my  native  win- 
ter element  the  muse  of  poetry  and  story  presented  herself, 
showed  a  Don  Juan  figure,  and  related  the  history  of  one  of 
the  horses  killed  in  a  bull-fight  upon  the  arena.  By  my  stove 
in  the  North  I  shall  tell  it. 

There  were  a  number  of  strangers  in  the  hotel,  —  amiable 
Spaniards,  agreeable,  good-tempered  young  Frenchmen,  and 
also  two  travellers  whose  nationality  I  could  not  find  out. 

The  dearth  of  fire-places  in  the  guests'  rooms,  and  the  con- 
tinued bad  weather,  brought  us  all  frequently  together.  In 
the  saloon,  in  front  of  the  large  fire-place,  where  the  logs  of 
wood  blazed  cheerfully  and  warmed  one,  we  gathered  to- 
gether ;  acquaintances  were  soon  made,  and  people's  peculiar- 
ities also  came  forth. 

Here  there  happened  to  be,  among  others,  a  collector  of 
curiosities ;  well,  what  will  persons  not  collect,  what  will  they 
not  do  ?  There  are  young  ladies  who  gather  old  steel  pens, 
boys  who  collect  seals  or  stamps ;  they  get  together  large 
books  full.  The  author  Castelli,  it  is  well  known,  made  a 
collection  of  snuff-boxes ;  here,  among  the  foreign  guests,  we 
had  a  man  who  gathered  celebrated  teeth  ;  he  had  quite  an 
album  of  teeth  ;  among  these  was  a  tooth  of  a  robber  executed 
long  ago,  one  belonging  to  a  celebrated  dancer,  also  a  tooth 
of  the  barber  of  Zumalacarregui,  I  believe,  so  well  assorted 
were  his  celebrities. 

We  also  made  the  acquaintance  of  two  opposite  characters, 
persons  travelling  for  pleasure,  and  yet  taking  no  pleasure  in 
travelling.  They  possessed  none  of  the  qualities  which  render 
social  life  agreeable  ;  if  the  one  was  in  a  good  temper,  the  other 
was  sulky ;  if  the  one  praised  something,  the  other  did  not  like 
it :  on  one  point  alone  did  they  agree,  we  were  told,  and  that 


BURGOS.  217 

was  to  sleep  till  late  in  the  day.  It  is  true  they  had  them- 
selves awoke  every  morning,  but  on  first  being  called  they  only 
growled,  the  second  time  they  turned  in  their  beds,  and  the 
third  time  they  seized  a  stocking,  and,  with  this  in  their  hand, 
they  fell  asleep  again. 

Here  in  Burgos  the  same  custom  prevailed  as  in  Madrid 
and  in  Toledo  ;  namely,  if  you  were  seated  at  table  and  any  one 
came  to  pay  a  visit,  he  took  a  chair  and  seated  himself  behind 
the  person  he  was  visiting.  Often  two  or  three  persons  came  ; 
there  they  sat  engaged  in  long-winded  conversation,  coming 
in  the  way  of  the  servants,  and  disturbing  those  who  were  at 
table  near  the  individual  they  were  calling  upon. 

We  had  already  been  three  days  in  Burgos ;  the  snow  fell 
unceasingly,  and  people  already  began  to  say  that  the  railway 
travelling  would  be  stopped  ;  to  be  forced  to  remain  here  was 
not  exactly  a  pleasing  thought 

If  one  wished  to  look  about  in  the  town,  to  see  the  large 
handsome  gate  ornamented  with  statues,  or  the  ancient  cathe- 
dral, one  must  sally  forth  through  the  deep  snow  in  winter 
clothing,  with  galoshes  on  one's  feet,  and  struggling  with  an 
enormous  umbrella.  It  was  raw  and  wet  in  the  large  open 
arcades  in  the  streets.  One  soon  got  fatigued  ;  to  be  out-of- 
doors  in  such  weather  is  not  at  all  agreeable,  and  one  hastened 
back  home  to  the  Fonda  Rafaela,  where,  in  one's  room,  one 
froze  near  the  glowing  brazero,  or  one  descended  to  the  saloon 
and  joined  the  others  round  the  fire-place. 

None  but  maid-servants  served  in  this  hotel ;  there  was 
much  less  ceremony  here  than  in  most  Spanish  hotels.  Had 
they  begun  to  dance  the  cancan,  it  would  not  have  astonished 
me. 

m 

At  length  the  sun's  rays  broke  forth,  but  only  for  a  few  min- 
utes at  a  time ;  the  air  became  again  thick  and  gray,  and  the 
snow  fell ;  if  it  continued  thus  we  should  have  to  celebrate  our 
Christmas  here  in  the  ancient  city  of  the  Cid.  Our  young* 
French  friends,  however,  promised  us  mild,  charming  weather 
as  soon  as  we  were  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pyrenees,  in  their 
beautiful  father-land,  and  we  must  admit  they  were  right. 
North  of  the  mountains  signs  of  spring  had  already  made  their 
appearance. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

OVER  THE  PYRENEES  TO  BIARRITZ. 

THE  clouds  passed  away,  the  sun  broke  forth ;  the  hour 
for  our  departure  struck,  and  we  set  off  punctually.  The 
snow  lay  high  on  both  sides  of  the  railway,  the  wind  had  swept 
it  from  the  thick  ice  that  lay  in  the  ditches  and  ponds.  We 
saw  snow,  nothing  but  snow,  all  the  way  to  Vittoria;  but  inside 
the  carriage  was  southern  warmth  and  vivacity,  which  were 
shown  in  speech  and  in  song.  Only  for  a  short  time  now 
should  I  longer  hear  the  beautiful  language  of  Spain,  which, 
to  my  ear,  seemed  more  sonorous  and  full  of  melody  than  the 
Italian  itself;  what  music ! 

Just  like  the  castanets'  full  tones 
Does  the  Spanish  language  sound  ; 

In  graceful  melody  it  seems 

From  the  heart's  inmost  depths  to  bound. 

Yes !  its  sound  was  melodious  to  my  ears,  and  found  its  way 
into  my  very  heart. 

We  were  now  in  the  country  of  the  Basques ;  the  train 
stopped  at  Vittoria,  a  town  rich  in  warlike  reminiscences.  In 
the  bloody  battles  of  the  civil  war,  the  army  of  Queen  Chris- 
tina was  beaten  by  Zumalacarreguj,  the  popular  hero  of  the 
Carlists.  The  shepherd  left  his  flock,  the  peasant  his  plough, 
to  serve  under  him  ;  they  willingly  offered  their  lives  to  assist 
him.  The  soldiers  called  him,  with  jesting  familiarity,  "  El 
Tio,"  "  Uncle."  Here,  before  Vittoria,  he  dashed  forward  in 
the  assault  on  his  white  horse  ;  no  ball  struck  either  it  or  him, 
though  he  could  so  easily  have  been  recognized  by  his  red 
Basque  hat,  his  fur  jacket,  and  red  trousers. 

Vittoria  was,  at  a  later  period,  though  only  for  a  short  time, 
the  scene  of  an  interesting  scientific  meeting ;  on  July  18, 


OVER    THE  PYRENEES    TO  BIARRITZ. 

1860,  were  assembled  here  most  of  the  astronomers  of  Europe 
to  witness  the  total  eclipse  of  the  sun. 

We  saw  neither  the  sun  nor  the  heavens,  only  heavy  dark 
clouds ;  the  snow  was  drifting  along,  the  wind  blew  a  hurri- 
cane. Vittoria  itself  was  hidden  behind  this  white  moving 
curtain  —  the  falling  snow.  Every  time  the  door  of  the  car- 
riage was  opened  we  had  an  inundation  of  snow  ;  every  trav- 
eller who  entered  shook  a  load  of  snow  off  of  him.  The 
railway  had  not  long  been  open  here,  the  locomotive  was 
somewhat  new  ;  something  appertaining  to  the  devil  it  ap- 
peared to  be  considered  by  sundry  old  senoras,  every  one  of 
whom  crossed  herself  when  she  entered  the  carriage,  again  as 
she  sat  down,  and,  lastly,  as  she  heard  the  signal  whistle. 

It  was  the  evening,  and  quite  dark,  before  we  reached  the 
terminus  at  Olazagoitia,  where  the  railroad  stops.  One  soli- 
tary lamp,  fed  with  train-oil,  was  the  only  light  afforded  to 
three  waiting-saloons.  The  passages  and  the  floors  of  the 
waiting-rooms  were  soiled  and  blackish  with  the  snow  and 
clayey  mud:  here  one  might  have  been  blown  through  and 
through,  if  such  a  process  were  deemed  advisable  on  the  score 
of  health.  There  was  as  much  wind,  and  as  many  draughts  of 
air  here,  as  if  one  were  standing  before  a  bellows.  Is  this  be- 
ing in  Spain?  I  asked  myself;  is  this  being  in  a  warm  cli- 
mate ?  It  was  no  better  here  than  at  home,  far  up  in  the 
north,  when  at  Christmas  time  one  is  driving  out  into  the 
country,  and  has  to  stop  at  a  little  way-side  inn,  where  all  the 
doors  are  open,  permitting  the  wind  to  career  through  them, 
and  giving  one  a  taste  of  the  drifting  snow. 

I  have  no  knowledge  of  Olazagoitia,  notwithstanding  that  we 
remained  here  more  than  an  hour ;  not  a  single  building  was 
to  be  discerned  in  the  darkness  which  reigned  here  ;  one  single 
light  glimmered  upon  the  heaps  of  snow,  behind  which,  it  was 
said,  there  was  a  restaurant.  The  other  travellers  waded  up 
to  their  knees  in  snow  in  order  to  reach  it.  I  remained  be- 
hind in  the  hope  of  finding  our  luggage,  and  seeing  it  placed 
in  the  diligence  by  which  we  were  going.  Half  a  score  of  car- 
riages were  waiting  here,  some  going  to  Bilboa,  some  to  Pam- 
plouna,  and  some  to  Bayonne.  Goods,  portmanteaus,  carpet- 
bags, and  hat-boxes  glided  past  me  in  the  snow ;  they  were 


220  IN  SPAIN. 

flung  upon  the  respective  carriages  in  a  manner  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  the  art  and  celerity  of  3  juggler.  One 
might  be  thankful  if,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  confusion  and 
darkness,  one's  effects  were  placed  in  the  right  carriage.  I 
gave  up  all  hope  of  this. 

It  was  very  cold  here,  and  I  was  hungry ;  my  travelling 
companion  kindly  brought  me  something  to  eat  and  drink, 
these  solid  accompaniments  to  a  long  journey  which  cannot 
be  dispensed  with,  though  they  are  generally  ignored  in  writ- 
ing. The  bread  was  of  great  respectability  in  point  of  age, 
the  ham  coarse  and  dry,  and  the  wine  made  one  long  for  the 
so  often  despised  tepid  rain-water  with  anisette,  or  some  other 
better  mixture. 

We  were  now  packed  away  in  the  diligence,  but  the  horses 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  move.  They  were  flogged,  they  were 
pushed,  they  were  led,  and  at  last  they  began  to  go  on.  The 
evening  was  dark,  the  night  became  darker  still ;  the  snow 
lay  thick  around,  and  the  lantern  to  the  carriage  gleamed  over 
it  on  the  rocks,  the  bushes,  and  the  deep  ravines  close  by 
where  we  were  driving  upward,  always  upward.  These  hills 
were,  during  the  civil  war,  the  scene  of  many  bloody  guerrilla 
combats ;  among  these  hills  Don  Carlos  wandered  about  in 
rain  and  snow,  almost  at  every  moment  stumbling  upon  the 
watch-fires  of  Christina's  troops.  Now  all  was  peace  and 
quiet ;  not  even  the  mounted  gensd'armes,  generally  to  be  met 
with  on  the  mountain  roads,  to  watch  over  the  safety  of  trav- 
ellers, were  to  be  seen  here.  All  was  security,  dark  as  was  the 
night  We  passed  through  small  sleeping  villages,  but  I 
could  not  sleep  ;  we  only  met  a  couple  of  heavily  laden  dili- 
gences, the  light  from  whose  lanterns  announced  their  coming 
long  before  they  reached  us.  Lonesome,  still,  winter-cold  it 
was  here ;  it  was  as  if  we  had  been  travelling  at  Christmas 
time  over  the  hilly  ridge  between  Norway  and  Sweden,  instead 
of  that  between  Spain  and  France.  We  were  in  the  land  of 
the  Basques,  and  found  that  its  climate  is  severe  in  winter 
time. 

At  length  the  road  began  to  descend  ;  the  snow  heaps  di- 
minished in  size,  until  at  last  they  totally  disappeared.  We 
drove  into  a  town  ;  the  street  lamps  were  still  burning,  though 


OVER    THE  PYRENEES    TO  BIARRITZ.  221 

it  was  already  morning ;  the  town  looked  extremely  pretty 
with  its  well-built  houses  and  large  arcades.  We  were  in  San 
Sebastian.  The  diligence  stopped  before  a  fonda,  which,  with 
its  cleanness,  and  I  may  almost  say  its  elegance,  astonished 
us.  We  looked  about  us  both  in  the  rooms  and  in  the 
kitchen  :  chocolate  and  milk  was  being  prepared  in  very  clean 
and  nicely-polished  vessels ;  the  whole  apparatus  of  the 
kitchen  shone,  and  the  young  Basque  girl  who  ruled  there  un- 
derstood how  to  let  her  eyes  shine  also ;  they  were  so  dark, 
so  pretty,  what  they  said  was  easier  to  understand  than  the 
language  of  the  Basques  which  she  spoke.  In  the  dialect  of 
the  people  it  is  called  Escuara,  and  learned  folks  say  that  it 
is  derived  from  the  Sanskrit ;  but  how  few  of  us  Europeans 
understand  Takentala's  tongue  ! 

,  San  Sebastian  is  most  picturesquely  situated  on  a  creek  of 
the  Bay  of  Biscay ;  the  rocks  around  it  rise  almost  perpendic- 
ularly from  the  deep  green  water.  We  beheld  the  town  at 
sunrise,  which  tinted  the  whole  skies  with  bright  red. 

Nobody  had  ever  mentioned  this  town  as  being  worthy  of  a 
long  visit,  and  yet  it  was  not  without  claims  to  consideration  ; 
it  had  quite  the  character  of  a  Spanish  town,  in  a  charming 
neighborhood.  During  the  summer-time  the  hills  are  covered 
with  wild  jessamine,  and  the  air  is  full  of  its  perfume.  San 
Sebastian  is  then  the  extent  of  the  French  people's  small  ex- 
cursions into  Spain  ;  here  one  is  among  the  original  tribes  of 
this  part  of  the  country,  the  robust,  hardy  Iberians,  in  their 
Basque  language,  Escualdunac. 

We  were  exceedingly  astonished  to  find,  on  the  northern 
side  of  the  Pyrenees,  a  much  milder  climate  than  that  which 
we  had  so  recently  left.  Behind  us  the  hills  were  covered 
with  snow ;  here,  on  the  contrary,  the  nearer  we  approached 
the  north,  the  greener  became  fields  and  meadows  ;  and  when 
we  reached  Yrun,  the  last  Spanish  town,  we  found  all  the 
gardens  blooming  with  flowers,  and  there  were  even  oranges 
visible  amidst  the  dark  leaves  of  the  orange-trees. 

It  had  cost  us  much  at  Madrid  to  have  our  passports  vis&d, 
but  at  Yrun  we  had  also  to  pay  for  -the  same  thing ;  however, 
we  had  to  put  up  with  some  little  inconvenience,  that  we 
might  not  consider  everything  in  Spain  quite  enchanting :  and 


222  IN  SPAIN. 

yet  that  was  the  impression  left  on  the  mind ;  memory  dwelt 
only  on  its  charms. 

Rushing  on  one's  thoughts  came  all  the  grandeur,  the  beauty, 
the  chivalry  one  had  seen  and  admired  there ;  the  much  there 
was  to  love  and  esteem.  And  in  bidding  adieu  to  Spain,  one 
could  not  but  sing :  — 

Spain !  what  riches  dost  not  thou 
Of  Nature's  varied  charms  possess ! 

Wilds  of  bright  cacti,  groves  of  palm, 
Flowery  plain,  and  wilderness. 

Every  dress  is  picturesque, 

Forms  of  beauty  wander  round ; 
And  on  thy  shores  the  ocean  vast 

Is  dashing  with  its  ceaseless  sound. 

Old  relics  of  the  Moorish  days, 

Still  grand  and  beautiful  remain  ; 
While  Cervantes  and  Murillo 

In  arts  and  literature  reign. 

Spain  !  thy  regenerated  youth 

Dark  bigotry  has  chased  away, 
And  in  its  new  and  fresh  career 

Gives  promise  of  a  brighter  day. 

A  long  bridge  near  Behobie  forms  the  boundary ;  half  of  the 
bridge  belongs  to  Spain,  the  other  half  to  France.  The  diffi- 
culties of  travelling  which  I  had  feared  to  encounter  in  this 
foreign,  little-visited  land  had  glided  by  ;  in  fact,  there  had  been 
none.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  just  come  from  a  feast  where  I  had 
thoroughly  enjoyed  myself,  and  were  now  going  home  where 
true  hearts  beat  for  me,  and  sympathized  in  all  my  joys  and 
sorrows. 

The  map  shows  us  that  Spain  is  Europe's  head ;  I  had  seen 
its  beautiful  face,  and  it  is  a  sight  never  to  be  forgotten. 
Dansk  og  Spansk  (Danish  and  Spanish)  make  rhyme  in  verse  ; 
I  well  remembered  this  from  my  childish  years,  when  the 
Spaniards  were  in  Denmark  under  Zamora.  I  remembered 
too  how  in  another  way  they  were  united  —  that  the  hero  of 
Danish  legends,  Holger  Danske,  at  Roncesvalles,  in  the  Span- 
ish Pyrenees,  fought  against  the  Moors.  Some  future  poet 


OVER   THE  PYRENEES   TO  BIARRITZ.  22$ 

may  take  him  for  a  subject,  and  unite,  in  verse,  Spain  and 
Denmark. 

We  were  in  France,  the  sun  was  shining  brightly ;  spring 
was  here,  and  we  soon  reached  Bayonne.  Ham  was  served  up 
to  us,  a  dish  in  favor  with  the  gods  of  the  pagan  North.  A 
fire  in  the  chimney  was  our  Christmas  torch,  a  lighted  wax 
taper  wound  round  a  flask  of  champagne  added  to  our  Christ- 
mas illumination  ;  the  cork  was  drawn,  and  we  drank  a  toast  to 
Denmark,  and  the  healths  of  all  who  are  dear  to  us  there. 
They  seemed  quite  near  to  us,  and  yet  we  were  still  but  a 
short  distance  from  Spain,  and  its  mountains,  clad  in  their 
wintry  garb,  were  still  in  sight.  They  would  receive  our  last 
farewell  from  Biarritz.  That  fashionable  bathing-place  is  not 
far  from  Bayonne,  on  the  open  "  Spanish  sea."  We  drove  on 
to  it.  The  sun  beamed  warmly ;  the  trees  were  in  bud ;  it  was 
like  spring. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  dead  calm  out  on  the  ocean  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach ;  yet  toward  the  coast  the  waves  came 
rolling  in  mountains  high ;  they  came  like  a  shoal  of  spouting 
whales,  wetting  the  sands  far  up,  and  forming  little  lakes 
covered  with  foam. 

The  sea  has  eaten  away  large  mouthfuls  of  the  porous,  steep, 
rocky  coast,  and  created  caverns  into  which  its  beating  sounds 
like  the  roar  of  cannon.  Thrown  together  in  the  most  fan- 
tastic chaotic  disorder,  lie  along  the  shore,  out  even  into  the 
sea,  masses  of  rock  pierced  entirely  through,  looking  like  great 
strange  sea  monsters,  like  petrified  animals  from  the  antedi- 
luvian world,  or  like  the  wrecks  of  sunken  ships.  The  thun- 
dering billows  rose  to  an  enormous  height,  while,  further  out, 
the  wide  expansive  waters  seem  a  smooth  plain.  If  the  wind 
is  high,  the  waves  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay  rise  with  it ;  then  a 
world  of  waves  are  dashed  against  the  shore  in  foaming  cata- 
racts, compared  to  which  Niagara  is  but  like  the  falls  of  a 
mill-dam.  From  the  heights  here  we  beheld,  for  the  last  time, 
the  Pyrenees,  those  beautiful  mountains  of  Spain. 

I  smile  with  joy  on  a  foreign  strand, 
But  joy  has  tears  in  one's  native  land. 

I  was  now  flying  toward  home,  with  the  hosts  of  birds  of 


224 


IN  SPAIN. 


passage,  to  see  the  beech-trees  putting  out  their  leaves,  to  hear 
the  cuckoos  and  all  the  singing-birds,  to  walk  on  the  fresh 
green  grass,  to  listen  to  my  mother  tongue  and  Danish  melo- 
dies, to  meet  again  my  old  faithful  friends,  while  I  myself 
brought  with  me  a  treasure  of  reminiscences. 

Life  is  a  charming  tale,  and  I  have  learned  to  sing, — 

Father  in  heaven  !  how  good  Thou  art  \ 

I  feel  thy  Spirit  in  my  heart. 

'Tis  Thou  protects,  leads,  gladdens  all, 

Consoles  when  tears  of  sorrow  fall. 

How  beautiful  the  world  which  Thou 

In  Thy  great  love  hast  made !     O  how 

My  soul  rejoices  that  through  Thee 

Is  hope  of  an  eternity  ! 

And  did  my  life  last  but  an  hour— 

It  was  the  offspring  of  thy  power  I 


A  VISIT  TO  PORTUGAL. 


IN   PORTUGAL. 


IN  the  "  Story  of  m>  Life  "  I  have  told  of  my  early  days  in 
Copenhagen,  of  the  home  which  I  found  in  Admiral 
Wulff's  house  by  the  Marine  Academy.  There  came  to  the 
house  at  that  time  two  young  Portuguese  boys,  Jose  and 
George  O'Neill,  sons  of  the  head  of  the  mercantile  house  of 
O'Neill  in  Lisbon.  Their  father  desired  that  his  children  should 
know  the  language  and  the  people  of  the  country  whose  Con- 
sul he  was  ;  perhaps,  also,  the  political  disturbances  in  the  at 
that  time  unhappy  Portugal,  determined  him  to  this.  They 
were  commended  to  Admiral  Wulff  by  our  Spanish-Portuguese 
Minister  dal  Borgo ;  they  were  received  in  his  house,  and  were 
placed  by  him  at  Professor  Neilson's  school ;  they  soon  learned 
our  language,  and  became  attached  to  our  country.  I  saw 
them  almost  daily  during  the  four  years  they  lived  here  ;  they 
then  travelled  to  Sweden,  in  order  to  learn  its  language  and 
customs.  From  that  time  many  years  elapsed  in  which  we- 
had  no  correspondence,  and  heard  nothing  of  each  other.  A 
year  or  two  since  there  came  to  me  a  compatriot  who  asked 
me  for  an  introduction  to  some  one  in  Lisbon,  a  place  which 
he  supposed  I  had  visited.  I  knew  of  no  one  better  to  write 
to  than  the  friend  of  my  youth,  —  Mr.  George  O'Neill,  who  had 
become  Danish  Consul  after  the  death  of  his  father.  I  wrote 
to  him,  received  his  reply,  and  still  another  letter  from  him, 
containing  a  warm  invitation  to  me  to  visit  him,  see  his  beau- 
tiful father-land,  make  my  home  with  him  and  his  brother,  and 
have  all  the  good  that  warm  hearts  were  able  to  provide  for 
me. 

I  have  again  seen  these  friends  of  my  youth,  lived  with  them 
and  theirs,  and  seen  a  part  of  their  beautiful  country  unknown 
to  me  before,  and  of  which  most  of  my  countrymen  know  so 
little.  I  place  together  here  the  notes  and  recollections  which 
I  have  hastily  written  down  of  this  trip  in  the  year  1866. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Bordeaux.  —  Ristori  as  Medea.  —  In  the  Land  of  the  Basques.  —  Burgos.  — 
Trip  on  the  Cars  to  Madrid,  and  the  stay  there.  —  Romantic  Journey 
with  the  Courier  from  Truxillo  to  Badajos. — The  Blossom  of  Beauty. 

THROUGH  Germany,  Holland,  and  Belgium,  I  drew  near 
Paris,  from  whence  after  a  month's  delay  I  went  to  Bor- 
deaux—  the  main  starting-point  on  my  journey  to  Portugal. 
On  the  25th  of  each  month  there  sails  from  Bordeaux  to  Rio 
Janeiro  one  of  the  largest  and  best  equipped  imperial  ships, 
which  touches  at  Lisbon.  I  had  already  announced  my  ar- 
rival there  by  this  ship,  which  I  took  for  granted  would  arrive 
at  Lisbon  by  the  28th  of  April.  The  weather  was  stormy  and 
unfavorable ;  the  Spanish  sea,  I  knew,  was  no  pleasure  trip  • 
but  then,  again,  a  journey  through  Spain,  where  as  yet  no  rail- 
road was  opened  between  Madrid  and  the  Portuguese  frontier, 
would  be  tedious  and  uncomfortable.  I  was  undecided.  I 
happened  to  read  on  a  street  corner,  "  Ristori  is  in  Bordeaux. 
She  appears  as  Medea,  and  as  Marie  Stuart."  No  tragic  art- 
ist abroad,  not  even  Rachel,  had  so  pleased  and  filled  me 
as  Ristori.  I  had  previously  seen  her  in  London  as  Lady 
Macbeth.  The  scene  where  she  walks  in  her  sleep  has  become 
indelible  with  me,  as  the  most  finished  expression  of  tragic 
art.  I  resolved  to  remain  a  couple  of  days  to  see  Ristori, 
and  then  take  the  journey  overland,  give  up  the  sea  where 
storms  continually  raged,  and  see  again  a  part  of  Spain  which 
I  had  visited  two  years  before  with  so  much  profit.  Now,  the 
first  thing  of  interest  was  to  see  Ristori  as  Medea.  It 
was  indeed  grand  !  It  was  Tragedy  itself  in  her  personified. 
There  was  such  a  plastic  beauty,  such  a  thorough  conception 
of  and  faithful  devotion  to  the  character  of  Medea,  that  one 
realized  how  a  woman  like  her  could  kill  her  children,  and 
yet,  in  the  very  act,  be  mother  with  overflowing  heart.  Ristori's 
voice  is  so  melodious,  so  like  music,  and  so  in  unison  with  the 


IN  THE  LAND  OF  THE  BASQUES.       229 

inner  soul  expression,  that  even  he  who  does  not  understand 
the  Italian  language,  yet  comprehends  the  thought  she  utters. 
I  can  never  forget  the  closing  scene,  the  look  so  full  of  love 
and  struggle  with  which  she  regards  her  children  ;  and  then  the 
anguish,  the  tenderness  of  a  mother's  heart,  with  which  she 
looks  upon  the  little  ones  that  she  has  killed,  one's  eyes  fill 
with  tears  to  see  it ;  and  when  their  father  asks  her  who  has 
killed  them,  Medea  lifts  her  head,  and,  fastening  her  look  upon 
him,  answers,  "  Thou !  "  In  this  single  word  Ristori  threw  such 
concentrated  power  that  it  sent  a  chill  through  us  to  hear  it. 
Tragedy  dies  with  Ristori ;  who  will  be  able  to  succeed  her. 

The  following  day  I  sat  in  the  cars  from  Tours  to  Bayonne. 
The  Pyrenees  lifted  themselves  before  us.  I  was  again  to  step 
upon  the  romantic  father-land  of  Cervantes  and  Murillo.  Now 
there  was  no  interruption  with  the  train,  as  when  I  last  travelled 
here  between  Paris  and  Madrid.  The  train  rushed  ahead  ; 
the  steam  rose  as  a  cloud  in  the  air  and  then  disappeared.  I 
had  a  glimpse  of  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  and  then  it  was  again 
hidden  by  the  heights  over  which  one  after  a  short  wandering 
comes  to  Biarritz,  whose  porous  rock  caverns,  with  its  rolling, 
thundering  seas,  came  to  me  in  lively  recollection. 

Without  being  asked  for  passports  this  time,  we  ran  into 
Spain.  At  last,  here  also  this  plague  and  inconvenience  to 
travellers  has  ceased.  I  have  often  thought,  while  suffering 
under  the  exactions  of  this  wearisome,  extortionate,  long- 
maintained  and  stagnant  system,  of  the  story  that  is  told  about 
the  frontier  soldier,  who  asked  a  traveller,  "  Have  you  a  pass- 
port ? "  and  was  answered,  "  No  !  "  "  That,"  replied  he,  "  is  very 
fortunate  for  you,  else  you  would  have  much  inconvenience  ; 
now  you  have  none,"  and  he  let  him  pass.  So  they  let  us, 
thanks  be  to  the  rapidity  of  the  train  and  increased  enlighten- 
ment. 

When  for  the  first  time,  thirty-three  years  ago,  I  was  in  Rome 
I  saw  in  St.  Peter's  Church,  seated  upon  high  velvet  chairs,  two 
royal  fugitives,  Don  Miguel  of  Portugal,  and  Queen  Christina 
of  Spain  ;  now  I  was  approaching  the  father-land  of  the  first, 
but  Queen  Christina  herself  drew  up  in  the  same  train  with 
me,  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  daughter,  the  reigning  Queen  Isabella 
the  Second.  The  royal  cars  were  sent  to  meet  her,  and  the 


230  IN  PORTUGAL. 

Basque  peasants,  in  their  red  national  caps,  made  music  while 
she  took  dinner  in  Irun,  the  first  town  over  the  frontier.  I 
desired  to  stay  a  fortnight  in  the  adjoining  romantic  St.  Sebas- 
tian. While  on  my  journey  from  home,  through  the  different 
countries,  and  in  most  of  the  larger  cities,  I  had  seen  in  the 
shop  windows  photograph  pictures,  copies  of  Kaulbach's 
beautiful  illustration  of  my  story,  "  The  Angel,"  who  bears  the 
dead  child  and  its  flowers  up  toward  heaven.  I  saw  it  last 
in  Bayonne,  but  also  here  in  St.  Sebastian  it  was  to  be  seen  ; 
the  Angel  had  followed  me  over  the  Pyrenees :  may  it  be  to 
me  of  good  omen,  I  prayed.  When  I  last  travelled  through  the 
land  of  the  Basques,  all  the  mountains  and  valleys  lay  covered 
with  snow ;  now  it  was  spring-time,  the  sun  shone  warm,  and 
the  earth  was  becoming  green  with  its  spring  verdure.  The 
train  flew  through  the  pierced  mountains,  tunnel  followed  after 
tunnel,  long,  dark,  interminable,  "  not  entirely  to  be  depended 
on,"  said  one  of  the  travellers.  Wild  and  lonely,  so  different 
from  the  well-cultivated,  thickly-populated  France,  the  land- 
scape spread  itself,  with  simple,  half  dilapidated  farms,  and 
small  villages,  with  black  plastered  houses.  But  singers  and 
songs,  in  poetical  power  and  fullness,  live  and  resound  here  ;  a 
collection  of  these  "  people's  songs,"  translated  into  French, 
followed  me,  peopled  the  country,  and  fulfilled  the  part  of 
poetry  in  these  climes.  Again  I  saw  Burgos'  mighty  cathedral  ; 
again  I  went  under  its  magnificent  arches,  and  breathed  the 
same  heavy,  bad-smelling  air  mixed  with  incense,  as  when  I 
last  was  here.  I  thought  of  the  Cid,  who  no  longer,  as  in  my 
younger  da3rs,  when  seen  through  the  color-play  of  fiction, 
seemed  to  me  so  ideal,  so  chivalric  ;  neither  as  before  did  I 
feel  so  glad  in  this  land  so  sung  about.  Already,  on  entering, 
I  met  so  many  dark,  ill-favored  faces,  whether  by  chance  or 
not,  that  it  was  not  pleasant.  At  St.  Sebastian,  as  well  as  here 
in  Burgos,  the  people  of  the  hotels  were  unaccommodating;  in 
the  barber  shop  sat  a  circle  of  men  with  heavy  beards,  dirty 
and  ragged  ;  all  was  disagreeable,  up  to  the  scented  fingers  of 
the  barber  ;  but  it  might  have  been  worse.  I  thought  of  a  still 
more  abominable  situation  that  a  countryman  of  mine  had 
been  in,  when  he  on  his  Italian  journey  went  in  to  a  barber 
shop  in  Terracina.  While  he  sat  there  in  the  chair,  and  the 


STA  Y  IN  MADRID.  2  3 1 

razor  passed  over  his  face,  he  saw  a  crowd  of  people  standing 
outside  the  street  door,  who  made  wounding  signs  to  him.  He 
asked  the  barber  "  what  it  all  meant,"  and  he  answered  very 
frankly,  "  I  have  lately  been  insane  ;  they  think  that  I  have 
not  yet  my  reason,  and  are  afraid  that  I  shall  cut  your  throat." 
This  was  a  worse  situation  than  mine,  and  it  is  always  a  com- 
fort that  one  does  not  experience  the  worst.  The  following 
night  I  wanted  to  leave  with  the  train  for  Madrid.  It  was  so 
cold  yet  in  Burgos  on  the  23d  of  April,  that  the  people  wore 
large  thick  cloaks.  I  sat  in  my  winter  cloak,  with  a  stout 
woolen  plaid  about  me,  and  yet  I  froze  and  my  teeth  chattered. 
The  night  was  long  and  severe ;  the  strong  smoke  of  miserable 
cigars  filled  the  cars  ;  without  it  poured  and  hailed.  Passing 
Valladolid  and  Escurial,  we  arrived  early  in  the  morning  at 
Madrid,  where  for  the  third  time  since  I  crossed  the  Spanish 
frontier,  my  trunk  was  opened  and  overhauled.  A  guide 
brought  me  to  Fonda  del  Francia,  which  is  wholly  Spanish, 
and  is  on  the  Call  del  Carmen.  During  my  preceding  visit 
Madrid  did  not  please  ;  this  time  it  spoke  to  me  yet  less.  It 
seemed  intolerable.  I  felt  out  of  place  and  dissatisfied. 
Murillo's  and  Velasquez's  peerless  paintings  were  not  able  to 
shine  into  me.  As  at  the  first  time,  I  did  not  find  here  any 
representative  of  Denmark  ;  our  Danish  Consul  had  gone  to 
Paris.  I  should  have  stood  entirely  abandoned  had  not  the 
Portuguese  Ambassador,  to  whom  I  was  recommended,  showed 
interest  for  me  in  the  handsomest  and  best  manner  possible. 

The  railroad  between  Madrid  and  the  Spanish  frontier  was 
finished,  save  a  short  distance.  The  King  of  Portugal  had 
lately  passed  over  it,  but  it  was  not  yet  opened  to  private  use, 
and  would  not  be,  so  they  said,  before  spring,  at  the  time  of 
the  Paris  Exposition.  To  go  in  the  most  expeditious  manner 
from  Madrid  to  Lisbon,  I  should  travel  with  the  courier  who 
starts  every  evening  with  letters  and  small  packages.  He 
uses  a  small  carriage  that  has  scarcely  room  for  the  coach- 
man, the  courier,  and  two  passengers.  To  secure  a  seat,  five 
days'  notice  was  required,  and  consequently  I  must  wait  in 
this  intolerable  Madrid.  With  the  exception  of  the  picture 
gallery,  the  capital  of  Spain  presents  nothing  original  to  a 
foreigner,  —  not  even  the  asp°ct  of  a  true  Spanish  city  with 


232  IN  PORTUGAL. 

romantic  reminiscences  of  the  Moors.  It  was  cold  here  ;  the 
sun  would  not  come  to  power.  We  well  knew  that  the  gov- 
ernment had  obtained  ascendency  over  the  revolutionary 
movements.  General  Prim's  troops  were  out  of  the  land,  but 
what  especial  state  of  mind  prevailed  among  the  people,  I 
did  not  know.  "  We  are  upon  a  volcano,"  it  was  said,  and 
sure  enough,  it  broke  out  some  weeks  after  I  arrived  at  Lis- 
bon. The  telegraph  reported  through  the  newspapers  of  the 
troubles  in  Madrid,  of  bloody  battles  in  the  streets  and  in  the 
lanes,  how  many  had  been  killed,  and  later,  how  many  had 
been  shot  down.  During  my  stay  in  Madrid  there  had  been 
a  great  national  feast,  in  memory  of  those  Spaniards  who 
were  shot  as  rebels  under  Napoleon  the  First ;  now,  crape  and 
flags  floated  over  their  tombs,  and  music  and  speeches  were 
heard ;  it  was  a  people's  feast.  I  was  under  suspicion  as  a 
foreigner  ;  violent  expressions  were  used  against  the  French, 
and  all  strangers  were  pronounced  French  by  the  ignorant 
masses.  "  It  is  best  that  I  follow  you,  when  you  go  out  to- 
morrow," said  the  guide  ;  "  there  are  crowds  in  the  streets, 
much  military,  great  commotion."  On  my  asking  if  there 
was  anything  to  fear,  he  said,  "  No."  I  tben  decided  to  go 
out  alone,  and  started  without  him ;  but  on  the  way  to  the 
Portuguese  Ambassador's  where  I  was  to  dine,  I  heard 
shouts  and  imprecations  from  ill-dressed  people,  which,  though 
I  did  not  understand  the  words,  signified  that  they  were  not 
well-disposed  toward  foreigners.  Later  in  the  evening  the 
Ambassador  drove  me  to  my  hotel ;  the  night  passed  quietly, 
without  disturbance.  An  especial  joy  came  to  me  during  my 
short  stay,  in  the  pleasure  of  meeting  with  the  highly  esteemed 
Baron  Stedigk,  whom  I  knew  in  my  student  days  in  Upsala, 
and  later  as  Intendant  at  the  Royal  Theatre  in  Stockholm. 
He  had  arrived  but  a  short  time  before  in  Madrid  as  Swedish 
Minister.  I  found  myself  at  home  with  him,  could  speak  my 
Danish  language  and  talk  of  my  home  in  the  North,  and 
\\ith  him  I  found  the  nicest  time  of  my  stay  here.  At  last  I 
was  to  leave  on  Thursday  evening,  May  3d,  and  I  knew  it 
would  be  an  annoying  journey  ;  it  would  be  about  two  days, 
they  said, —  so  long  should  I  sit  doubled  up  in  a  diligence  ;  but 
it  stretched  out  yet  longer,  and  became  three  whole  nights  and 


JOURNEY  FROM  MADRID    TO    TRUXILLO.         233 

two  days.  Twenty-three  hours  after  the  departure  from  Mad- 
rid, in  almost  uninterrupted  course,  we  came  to  the  end. 
The  Portuguese  Ambassador,  Marquis  de  Sobrals,  sent  his 
servant  to  the  diligence  office  to  be  of  service  to  me.  My 
only  travelling  companion  was  a  young  physician  from  Lisbon. 
He  spoke  a  *ittle  French,  and  we  could  entertain  each  other ; 
he  was  highly  amiable  and  attentive  throughout  the  journey. 
At  last,  after  lingering  a  long  time,  the  coachman  cracked  his 
whip,  and  we  went  ahead  through  the  dimly-lighted  streets, 
out  through  one  of  the  gates  of  the  city,  over  old  mason-work 
bridges.  We  drove  madly,  just  as  if  the  mule-drivers  also 
wished  as  soon  as  possible  to  get  away  from  Madrid.  The 
lights  twinkled,  the  country  opened  flat  and  desolate  ;  not  a 
house  appeared,  it  was  still  and  lonely  everywhere.  A  soli- 
tary castle  ruin  disclosed  itself  in  the  clear  moonlight.  Sim- 
ple dwellings,  miles  apart,  were  raised  for  the  sentinels,  who 
with  their  wives  and  children  here  had  a  little  patch  of 
ground,  for  which,  on  foot,  or  on  horseback,  well-armed,  they 
might  watch  the  high  roads  and  guard  the  traveller  against 
assault.  Six  or  eight  mules  drew  our  carriage  at  flying  speed ; 
it  jumped  and  jolted  against  the  loose  stones,  over  the  rough 
road.  The  moon  shone  large  and  round  in  the  clear,  trans- 
parent atmosphere  ;  there  was  something  romantic  not  to  be 
forgotten  in  this  lonely  night-ride  over  the  Cid's  and  Don 
Quixote's  land.  Early  in  the  morning,  after  having  passed 
the  river  Tejo,  whose  rush-covered  shores  and  winding 
course  presented  a  picturesque  appearance  under  flame-colored 
skies,  we  arrived  at  the  village  Talavera  de  la  Reina.  There 
swarmed  already  about  the  place  peasants  in  long  ragged 
cloaks,  with  broad-brimmed  hats  upon  their  heads  which 
made  them  look  like  banditti.  A  troop  of  wretched  beggars, 
both  men  and  women,  surrounded  us  before  the  miserable  inn, 
in  which  a  disgusting  old  woman  prepared  chocolate  for  us^ 
The  beggar  troop  actually  laid  their  hands  upon  us,  pulled  us 
by  the  arms  and  the  skirts  of  our  coats,  to  get  a  couple  of 
copper  pence.  We  were  surrounded  by  these  polypi  in  rags  ; 
one  beggar  beat  another  while  hanging  about  the  carriage, 
until  at  last  we  moved  on.  The  road  led  through  fine  forest 
legions ;  in  the  afternoon  we  gained  the  mountains,  bordered 


234  IN  PORTUGAL. 

with  richly  blooming  hedges  ;  the  green  seemed  overlaid  with 
snow,  but  it  was  white  blossoms  not  unlike  our  wild  roses, 
though  every  leaf  was  larger,  and  a  purer  white,  with  a  coal- 
black  point.  The  road  ascended  in  a  zigzag.  We  had  a 
team  of  oxen,  and  could  thus  on  foot,  in  even  march,  follow 
with  and  enjoy  the  wide-spread  view.  The  descent  brough' 
us  to  the  first  large  town  on  our  route,  —  Truxillo,  Pizarro's 
birthplace.  In  Madrid,  they  made  me  attentive  to  personal 
comfort,  which  proved  itself  necessary ;  to  provide  myself 
with  a  good  basket  of  food,  and  also  wine  ;  for  there  was 
almost  no  stopping-place  for  the  traveller  with  the  courier, 
and  in  the  inns  one  cannot  be  sure  of  getting  anything  but 
chocolate.  My  landlord  in  Fonda  del  Francia  had  provided 
me  with  a  whole  turkey,  bread,  cheese,  and  wine,  my  travel- 
ling companion  was  also  provided  with  provisions,  yet  the 
whole  day  we  had  no  regular  meal,  until  now  there  was 
granted  us  a  whole  hour's  stay  in  Truxillo.  The  arrival  of  the 
post  is  quite  an  event  in  such  a  small  inland  town.  While 
we  sat  at  table  my  fellow-traveller  had  a  visit  from  two  friends, 
who  from  the  casino  of  the  town  opposite  the  inn  had  seen 
us  arrive  and  recognized  him.  Two  of  the  serving  girls  of 
the  house  waited  upon  us,  and  chatted  with  much  volubility 
and  good-humor.  The  younger  asked  me  what  country  I  was 
from,  and  heard  for  the  first  time  the  name  Denmark.  With 
Spanish  liveliness,  laughter,  and  merriment,  she  assured  me 
that  she  would  like  to  travel  there,  the  name  sounded  so 
pretty,  and  now,  with  a  half-serious  air,  she  asked  me,  "  If  I 
would  take  her  with  me  ;  she  was  quite  ready  to  go."  The 
conductor  came,  took  part  in  our  meal,  and  we  sat  again  in 
the  carriage,  to  experience  another  night  journey  upon  the 
meanest  and  most  unmerciful  road,  where  the  carriage  jolted, 
swinging  over  breaks  and  stones,  on  the  point  continually  of 
^upsetting ;  that  this  did  not  occur,  and  that  no  arms  nor  legs 
were  broken,  was  little  short  of  a  miracle.  At  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning  we  arrived  at  Merida.  It  was  yet  very  dark  ;  all 
houses  were  closed,  and  not  a  person  was  to  be  seen  in  the 
long  narrow  street  to  the  place  where  the  diligence  should 
stop.  We  roused  the  people,  and  a  man  procured  for  us  a 
sort  of  vehicle,  a  covered  wagon,  which  could  bring  our  lug- 


THE  BLOSSOM  OF  BEAUTY. 


235 


gage  to  the  depot ;  for  here  at  last  began  the  short  stretch  of 
railroad  in  Spain  which  is  finished  as  a  continuation  of  the 
Portugal  road.  While  our  things  were  taken  to  the  depot  my 
companion  took  me  in  the  daybreak  through  some  streets 
and  lanes  to  see  some  ruins  of  arches,  vaults,  and  rows  of  col- 
umns preserved  from  the  time  of  the  Romans.  I  was  so  tired, 
so  little  disposed  to  see  antiquities,  that  with  a  reluctant  limp, 
and  half-sleepy  eyes,  in  the  cold  morning  air,  I  looked  at  the 
old  stones,  feeling  it  far  more  agreeable  to  hear  the  noise  of 
the  locomotive,  and  see  its  steam  rise  in  clouds  of  vapor. 
The  country  adjacent  reminded  me  of  that  seen  from  the  cars 
between  Rome  and  Civita  Vecchia.  It  was  but  a  short  dis- 
tance to  the  Spanish  frontier  town  Badajos,  which  is  large  and 
important,  picturesquely  situated  on  the  Guadiana  River.  So 
far,  I  had  engaged  my  place  with  the  courier.  Sure  of  that,  my 
strength  scarcely  held  out  longer ;  but  I  was  stronger  than  I 
believed,  and  found  it  on  the  whole  more  comfortable  and 
agreeable  to  proceed  with  my  travelling  companion,  who  would 
continue  his  journey  to  Lisbon  that  same  day,  arriving  there 
by  the  next  morning.  Two  hours'  rest  in  Badajos  would  give 
strength  for  this.  This  was  at  last  a  city  to  see,  —  the  only 
place  of  interest  upon  the  whole  journey  from  Madrid.  A 
long,  dirty  road  brought  us  in  from  the  station  ;  moreover,  no 
one  else  occupied  the  large,  roomy  omnibus  but  my  compan- 
ion and  myself,  except  two  ladies  who  suddenly  appeared  to 
us.  They  have  surely,  I  thought,  come  out  here  to  meet 
relatives  or  acquaintances  whom  they  expect.  An  old,  some- 
what poorly  dressed  woman  with  a  sharp,  prying  look,  sat 
constantly  whispering  to  the  other  ;  this  was  a  well-dressed, 
accomplished  beauty,  young,  and  charming,  fresh  as  a  rose. 
There  was  something  fine  in  this  maiden's  face  ;  the  large 
blue  eyes,  veiled  by  the  long  dark  eyelashes  had  something 
so  dreamy,  quiet,  and  almost  embarrassed,  as  she  sat  there. 
It  was  as  if  the  most  beautiful  thing  that  Badajos  had  to 
show  disappeared  when  she  left  us.  My  friend  and  I  re- 
freshed ourselves,  and  waited  an  hour's  time  in  a  really 
good  hotel ;  food  and  drink  were  irreproachable,  and  the 
rooms  high  and  airy  ;  green  painted  balconies  with  pots  and 
flowers  faced  the  yard.  We  took  a  short  walk  through  the 


236  W  PORTUGAL. 

town,  and  soon  our  omnibus  stopped  at  the  door,  we  stepped 
in,  and   before  us  floated  the  young,  quiet,  dreamy  Spanish 
girl.     "  How  handsome  she  is  "  we  both  exclaimed.     And  yet 
"  not  an  ideal,"  added  my  friend  ;  "  I  have  just  been  informed 
who  she  is,  —  the  poor  child  of  sin."     When  the  train  arrived 
the  old  woman  drove  constantly  in  the  omnibus  to  and  from 
the  station  to  exhibit  to  strangers  her  beautiful  merchandise 
—  the  blossom  of  beauty  that  was  not  an  ideal.     We  started  ; 
but  a  few  minutes  and  we  lost  Spanish  ground  and  were  over 
the  Portuguese  frontier.     Passports  were  not  demanded,  but 
merely  our  names.    I  gave  mine  ;  it  was  pronounced  in  a  crazy 
fashion,  and  written  down  assuredly  worse.     I  felt  glad  and 
half  at  home  when  I  reached  the  country  where  friends  and 
hospitality  awaited    me  ;    the  whole  route  was    now  by  rail. 
What  a  transition  to  come  from  Spain  into  Portugal.     It  was 
as  if  flying  from  the  Middle  Ages  into  modern  times.     All 
around  I  saw  white,  friendly  houses,  fenced  groves,  cultivated 
grounds,  and  at  the  large  stations  refreshments  were  to  be 
had.     One  received  as  it  were  a  breeze  from  England  laden 
with  modern  comfort,  a  breath   from  the  rest  of  the    living 
world.     Picturesquely  beautiful,  with  its  white  houses  in  the 
midst  of  the  green,  appeared  on  the  height  before  us  the  first 
Portuguese  town,  —  Elvas.      Evening  soon  set  in,   dark  and 
rainy ;  toward  midnight  we  passed  by  Abrantes,  and  arrived 
soon  at  the  little  town  Entroncumento,  whose  railroad  from 
the  Spanish  frontier  connects  with  the   main   road   between 
Lisbon  and  Coimbra.     We  found  here  a  great  modern  rail- 
road hotel,  —  at  least  so  it  appeared  to  me,  who  during  the  jour- 
ney from  Madrid  became  unused  to  all  such  comfort.     The 
King  of  Portugal  had  while  on  his  last  journey  from  Spain 
passed   the   night   here.     Here   was   a   large,  beautiful   hall, 
good   restaurant  and   refreshments,  even   tea  and   port  wine 
were  to  be  had :  were  we  not  in  the  centre  of  civilization  ?     Af- 
ter an  excellent  midnight  repast,  my  companion  and  I  pre- 
pared for  ourselves  a  sleeping  place  as  well  as  we  could  ;  the 
whole  car  stood  at  our  disposal,  and  we  were  not  disturbed  by 
any  new   passengers.     The  rain   poured  down   without,    but 
that  we  soon  forgot  in  our  rest  and  sleep.     At  day-break  we 
approached  Lisbon.     The  Tejo  River  spread  itself  into  a  large 


IN  LISBON.  237 

bay,  and  we  dashed  ahead  along  the  shores  ;  the  air  became 
clearer  and  the  sun  broke  through.  About  four  o'clock  we 
were  in  Lisbon,  where  my  careful  travelling  companion  pro- 
cured me  a  carriage,  and  told  the  coachman  to  take  me  to  the 
Hotel  Durand,  on  the  Place  Ruas,  by  dos  Flores,  just  opposite 
the  house  Tolades  O'Neill's  office  building,  —  but  it  would 
yet  be  too  early  to  knock  there.  The  streets  were  still  entirely 
deserted  ;  in  the  hotel  they  all  slept,  and  when  after  a  long 
pounding  I  got  hold  of  a  man,  this  person  assured  me  that  all 
the  rooms  were  occupied ;  in  the  dining  hall  I  could  however 
have  a  chair  to  sit  upon.  It  was  not  very  pleasant ;  neither 
was  it  that  O'Neill's  house  and  office  here  in  the  city  were 
not  occupied  by  him  ;  he  had  his  home  half  a  mile  out  from 
Lisbon  at  the  country-place  "  Pinieros ; "  moreover  it  was 
Sunday,  and  no  one  came  to  the  city  on  that  day,  they  told 
me.  I  was  thus  compelled,  tired  as  I  was,  to  get  a  carriage 
quickly  and  drive  out.  We  hurried  through  streets,  places, 
squares,  and  narrow  lanes  with  poor  houses,  out  toward  the 
gate,  through  the  dilapidated  walls  toward  the  highway  to 
Cintra.  The  great  aqueduct  over  Alcantara  Valley,  and  the 
many  luxuriant  gardens  lent  beauty  to  the  surrounding  coun- 
try. The  peasantry,  men  and  women,  on  their  donkeys, 
creaking,  heavy-loaded  wagons,  and  screaming  beggars  near 
the  road,  made  the  whole  lively.  At  last  we  turned,  between 
narrow  walls,  up  toward  a  steep,  craggy,  uncomfortable  road 
to  a  single  villa,  on  one  of  the  largest  heights :  it  was  Pinie- 
ros. Pinetree,  it  can  be  translated. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PINIEROS. 

My  New  Home.  —  Arcos  dos  Aquas  Livres. —  The  Lonely  Park. —  The 
Villa  of  Marquis  Fronteira.  —  Household  Life.  —  A  Romantic  Story.— 
Nightly  Quiet.  — The  Song  of  the  Nuns.  —The  Church-yard  of  St  John. 

THE  coachman  rang  the  bell.  Two  lively,  almost  full- 
grown  young  men,  the  sons  of  O'Neill,  received  me  with 
glad  faces,  and  took  my  luggage  in.  Madame  O'Neill  met  me 
gladly,  and  soon  George,  my  friend,  flew  to  meet  me,  and 
clasped  me  around  the  neck.  He  and  some  of  my  countrymen 
on  board  a  Danish  vessel  on  the  Tejo,  had  hoisted  a  Danish 
flag  in  salutation  when  the  French  steamer  entered,  believing 
that  I  was  with  her ;  when  this  was  not  the  case,  he  thought 
I  was  in  Badajos  ;  then  he  had  telegraphed ;  there  would  he 
have  met  me  j  he  had  also  sent  letters  to  Madrid  which  I  had 
not  received.  How  little  was  he  changed,  and  yet  somewhat 
older.  The  eyes  smiled  with  the  same  youthful  brightness  • 
old  times  arose  in  our  thoughts,  our  first  meeting,  our  life 
together,  in  the  years  of  our  youth.  It  takes  many  words 
to  tell  what  the  heart  contains ;  one  sees  it  in  a  glance,  as 
one  sees  the  flower  with  its  many  leaves. 

The  breakfast  was  served  earlier  than  usual,  and  after  it  I 
slept  four  whole  hours  uninterruptedly,  and  arose  strengthened 
and  glad  after  all  the  annoyances  of  the  journey.  After  a 
couple  of  days'  stay  here,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  known  the 
house,  the  family,  and  all  the  surroundings  for  years  ;  it  was 
too  broad  to  be  sketched  in  a  picture,  but  sufficient  to  give  in 
words  ;  here  they  are  as  I  then  wrote  them  down. 

Pinieros  is  the  name  of  the  height  and  the  country-place  we 
here  inhabit ;  it  is  an  old,  somewhat  dilapidated  two-story  coun- 
try-house, with  rose-colored  walls,  green  painted  doors  and  win- 
dow-casements, as  in  most  of  the  older  houses  in  Lisbon.  In 


ARCOS  DOS  AQUAS  LIVRES.  239 

the  building  are  a  great  many  halls  and  rooms  ;  several  stand 
entirely  empty,  or  have  only  a  bedstead,  an  old  picture,  or 
some  simple  piece  of  furniture.  Around  the  mansion,  the 
view  stretches  itself  widely  over  hills  and  valleys  ;  the  road 
to  Cintra  runs  close  by  through  country  towns,  which  in  long 
sti  etch  ing  form  a  continued  street  that  seems  the  suburb 
to  Lisbon.  Yet  late  in  May  are  the  heights  green,  as  at  home 
in  Denmark.  Small  fields  of  maize  peep  forth  between  the 
many  "  Quintas,"  a  name  which  signifies  country-place.  All 
around  within  sight  grows  the  olive-tree  ;  the  great  luxuriance 
and  freshness,  the  many  groups  of  trees,  seem  to  make  the 
whole  scene  a  landscape  in  Kent.  Toward  the  west  the 
horizon  heights  are  set  with  small  wind-mills,  one  close  by 
another,  forming  an  unbroken  fortification  line ;  a  little  to- 
ward the  south,  Cintras  Mountain  lifts  itself  picturesquely, 
upon  whose  highest  summit  one  can  discern  the  old  castle 
with  its  towers.  Sometimes  clouds  sink  themselves  around 
the  whole  mountain  land,  and  it  disappears  from  view.  The 
windows  in  my  room  overlooked  a  part  of  the  Alcantara  Val- 
ley, over  beyond  which,  bold  and  grand,  the  great  aqueduct 
raises  its  dizzy  arches  ;  "  Arcos  dos  aquas  livres  "  —  the  free 
waters'  arch.  The  green  heights,  with  gardens,  and  the  wall 
of  the  city,  almost  completely  hide  Lisbon  ;  yet  a  part  of  the 
west  suburbs,  and  the  heights  lying  eastward  with  their  clois- 
ters and  barracks  are  to  be  seen.  In  the  horizon  behind  the 
city  and  the  river,  the  Palmella  lifts  itself,  with  the  mountains 
St.  Luis  and  Monte  Arrabida.  From  the  steep  descending 
wall  of  the  garden,  one  has  a  commanding  view  of  the 
mighty  aqueduct,  which  upon  thirty-five  arches  spans  the 
depths ;  tall  trees  and  four-story  houses  lie  as  if  at  its  very 
feet.  Uppermost  is  an  arched  passage,  high  and  broad  enough 
for  the  workman  who  must  constantly  clean  and  repair  the 
canal ;  it  has  small  open  towers  through  which  the  fresh  air 
acts  upon  the  running  waters  ;  it  is  a  sort  of  covered  gallery, 
with  a  small  open  passage  for  people  on  foot.  It  was  from 
this  point,  full  twenty  years  ago,  that  a  bandit  who  ravaged  in 
the  country,  was  wont  to  precipitate  his  victims  into  the  abyss 
below.  It  is  said  that  when  this  monster  fell  into  the  hands  of 
justice  and  was  asked  if  he  had  ever  felt  the  prick  of  conscience, 


240 


IN  PORTUGAL. 


he  answered,  No  ;  only  once,  when  from  the  aqueduct  he  had 
pushed  down  a  young  woman,  and  then  had  taken  her  little 
child  and  thrown  it  high  into  the  air,  so  that  it  should  fall 
after  her,  the  little  one  had  believed  that  he  played  with  it,  and 
in  joy  spread  out  its  arms  and  laughed  at  him.  "  This  laugh," 
said  he,  "  this  smile  had  been  disagreeable  to  him  ;  he  never 
could  forget  it." 

In  every  light  —  when  the  clouds  dropped  their  rain-vei) 
down  toward  the  earth ;  when  the  sun  burned  from  the 
cloudless  heavens  ;  toward  evening,  when  a  rainbow  colored 
reflection  gave  its  tint  to  the  atmosphere,  or  in  the  brighest 
moonshine  —  was  the  aqueduct  a  mighty  imposing  presence 
which  commanded  the  whole  landscape.  The  distant  wind- 
mills elevated  themselves  a  short  way  from  the  city,  and 
rounded  its  line. 

The  garden  of  Pinieros  was  inclosed  by  a  wall,  which  be- 
fore the  house,  however,  was  easy  to  climb  over.  A  ferocious 
dog  chained  by  the  open  gate,  watched  the  entrance.  A  lone 
bull-dog  leaping  about,  had  also  watch-service  to  render  ;  and 
before  the  house-door,  upon  his  high  climbing-pole,  sat  a  funny 
little  ape,  who  grinned  and  showed  his  teeth.  He  took  great 
pleasure  in  climbing  upon  the  wall,  and  peeping  into  the  upper 
windows,  or  in  jumping  upon  the  back  of  the  bull-dog  and 
sitting  there  as  rider. 

In  the  out-buildings  were  stable  and  bath-room,  beside  a 
chapel  dedicated  to  St.  Antonius  ;  two  cypresses  stood  as 
stiff  church- war  dens  without.  The  water-basin  was  dilapi- 
dated, and  almost  dried  up ;  in  the  small  pools  swam  gold- 
fish; the  Danish  flag  streamed  out  toward  the  road.  Old, 
low  cedars  formed  an  impenetrable  screen  against  the  burning 
sunbeams,  and  along  the  wall  an  alley,  which  served  as  shoot- 
ing-gallery and  promenade. 

When  I  arrived  the  garden  was  yet  in  its  best  flora ;  here 
were  a  multitude  of  roses,  and  flame-colored  geraniums  ;  climb- 
ing plants,  not  unlike  our  forest  smallage,  hung  with  the  pas- 
sion-flower as  heavy  drapery  over  walls  and  bushes.  The 
white  blossoms  of  the  elder,  up  against  the  pomegranate's  red 
blossom,  unitedly  presented  the  Danish  colors.  The  grounds 
round  about  had  high  cactus,  vine-leaves,  and  dark  cypresses 


THE  LONELY  PARK.  24! 

but  at  the  same  time  so  many  flowers  and  plants  that  they 
carried  the  thought  to  Denmark.  Within  view  stood  the 
red  poppy,  and  the  blue  chicory-flower ;  the  sea-gillyflower 
peeped  so  homelike  from  the  green  grass,  and  the  olive-tree 
reminded  us  of  our  willow. 

In  truth,  I  felt  myself  at  home  out  here,  and  longed  not  at 
all  for  the  large  city  that  lay  so  near. 

Very  near  Pinieros,  in  the  valley,  out  toward  the  high-road, 
lay  a  villa  within  a  considerable  park,  which  belonged  to  the 
sons  of  a  rich  banker ;  here  was  celebrated,  not  many  years 
since,  feast  upon  feast ;  then  the  park  stood  in  delightful  lux- 
uriance and  beauty,  and  had  also  its  theatre,  decorated  with 
richness  and  taste.  The  owner  presented  operettas  for  his 
aristocratic  guests  ;  Queen  Maria  da  Gloria  herself  was  pres- 
'ent.  The  theatre  was  burned  later,  and  afterward  was  a  long 
time  in  rebuilding  ;  now  the  work  seemed  stopped  ;  the  park 
itself,  with  its  hot-houses,  and  Chinese  pagodas,  which  look 
like  colossal  umbrellas,  are  like  deserted  corridors,  and  leave 
a  sorrowful  impression  of  neglect.  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  Walter  Scott's  description  of  the  castle  garden  at  Kenil- 
worth,  where  the  Earl  of  Leicester  visits  Amy  Robsart.  A  won- 
derfully long  and  wide  basin  filled  full  with  blooming  callas 
attracted  my  attention,  as  also  two  real  Danish  red-stars  ;  here 
they  stood,  however,  with  withered  blossoms,  and  contributed 
to  augment  the  decay  in  which  the  whole  park  seemed  sunk  ; 
a  lonely  "swan  swam  around  in  the  little  pool  of  water  which 
yet  remained  under  the  frail  hanging  bridge.  The  castle,  I 
heard,  was  occupied  by  its  owner  ;  but  I  saw  no  one  there,  nei- 
ther in  the  garden,  with  the  exception  of  the  old  porter,  who 
could  surely  have  told  stories  about  the  lively  days  of  the  past, 
when  one  magnificent  carriage  after  another  rolled  through 
the  grand  entrance-gate,  when  rockets  rose  in  the  air,  and  a 
thousand  lamps  shone.  I  walked  around  under  the  tall  trees  ; 
a  couple  of  dogs  with  fox-like  heads  showed  their  teeth  at  me 
from  a  large  overthrown  tree  in  the  high,  freely-growing  grass  ; 
the  side  paths  were  overgrown,  the  hot-houses  stood  empty, 
the  air  without  was  heavy  and  filled  with  the  odors  of  rotten 
plants.  It  put  me  in  bad  humor  to  be  here. 

A  lively,  and,  moreover,  strange  impression,  on  the  contrary, 
16 


242  IN  PORTUGAL. 

is  made  upon  one  by  another  villa  situated  not  far  from  here 
with  its  garden ;  it  is  in  Italian  style,  in  old  days  respectable, 
and  belongs  to  the  Marquis  of  Fronteira. 

A  high  terrace  from  the  garden  sets  the  main  building  in 
communication  with  a  little  chapel,  and  leads  to  an  orange 
grove.  The  whole  terrace  is  decorated  with  marble  busts  of 
Portuguese  kings  ;  one  can  here  refresh  one's  historical  knowl- 
edge in  this  direction,  or  reflect  how  insignificant  they  were. 
The  walls  of  the  gallery  are  decorated  with  strangely  grand  and 
striking  figures  in  mosaic,  all  representing  female  effigies,  such 
as  Geometry,  Astronomy,  Poetry,  etc.  Below  the  terrace  is  a 
large  pond  with  boats,  where  one  can  row  away  under  weep- 
ing-willows and  pepper-trees,  past  small  grottoes  strangely  or- 
namented with  all  sorts  of  shells.  In  the  dining-hall  are  to 
be  seen  life-size  portraits  of  the  family  ancestors.  One  rep- 
resented Don  Pedro  de  Mascarenhas,  who  had  taken  the  high 
position  of  Vice  King  in  India.  His  exploits  in  war  are  rep- 
resented on  the  white  and  blue  porcelain  squares  which  cover 
the  walls. 

The  Marquis  of  Fronteira,  to  whom  George  O'Neill  intro- 
duced me,  received  us  with  great  heartiness,  told  me  that  his 
house  stood  open  to  me,  and  that  he  hoped,  as  I  lived  in  the 
nearest  neighborhood,  I  would  often  visit  him  and  the  park. 

I  soon  felt  myself  at  home  in  the  surroundings  of  Pinie- 
ros,  and  within  our  villa  especially.  Madame  O'Neill  related 
interesting  childhood  reminiscences  from  Don  Miguel's  time. 
George,  the  eldest  son,  played  the  piano  beautifully,  loved 
reading,  and  interested  himself  in  nature  ;  he  soon  attached 
himself  to  me  ;  the  younger  son,  Arthur,  handsome,  sprightly 
and  gallant,  quick  to  vault  into  his  saddle  and  ride  away,  inter- 
ested me  with  his  fresh  life ;  the  father  (my  friend  George 
O'Neill)  passed  the  whole  day,  with  the  exception  of  Sunday, 
in  his  office,  but  toward  evening  we  saw  him,  and  always  glad 
and  in  good  spirits ;  we  then  talked  in  Danish  together  about 
old  times  at  home,  and  the  guitar  came  down  from  the  wall, 
or  the  son  (George)  took  his  place  at  the  piano,  when  my  friend 
sang  with  fine  full  voice  from  "  Martha  "  and  "  Rigoletto." 
There  was  besides  in  the  house  a  talented  young  lady,  the 
teacher  of  the  children,  born  and  reared  in  Portugal,  though 


A  ROMANTIC  STORY.  243 

of  German  descent.  A  romantic  hue  tinged  the  history  of 
her  parents.  The  mother  was,  as  far  as  I  remember,  from 
Hanover,  and  had  when  a  very  little  child,  with  her  parents 
and  grandparents,  left  Europe  ;  the  ship  which  should  carry 
them  to  America  lost  its  course ;  one  after  the  other  died  of 
starvation  ;  the  child  lay  and  slept  upon  the  dead  bodies. 
The  parents  and  grandparents  were  corpses.  The  sailors 
mutinied  against  the  captain  ;  they  said  he  did  not  know  how 
to  command  the  ship ;  they  threw  him  alive  into  the  sea,  de- 
spite his  prayers.  The  old  lady  could  nevef  forget  this  mo- 
ment of  her  childhood's  experience.  The  ship  stranded 
upon  the  coast  of  Portugal ;  she  was  saved  ;  it  was  her  en- 
trance into  Portugal,  where  she  has  continued  to  reside  and 
remains  still  as  an  old  lady.  The  husband  was  also  born  in 
Germany,  served  as  volunteer  in  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and 
had  since  travelled  on  foot  into  Italy  and  became  the  prisoner 
of  robbers  ;  but  when  they  found  in  his  satchel  only  a  couple  of 
shirts  and  socks,  they  gave  him  his  liberty,  and  a  little  travel- 
ling money  besides.  He  came  to  Portugal,  became,  I  believe, 
Professor  of  living  languages,  married,  and  died  some  years 
since.  I  spoke  with  the  old  lady,  her  charming,  beautiful  daugh- 
ter, and  intelligent  sons ;  the  parents'  history  appeared  roman- 
tic to  my  mind,  and  was  heightened  by  all  the  surroundings. 

"  It  is  as  peaceful  and  as  secure  here  as  in  Denmark,"  they 
said  to  me,  —  "  as  if  you  had  landed  in  Copenhagen  ;  the  rob- 
bers who  many  years  since  ravaged  the  country,  are  all  hung. 
We  have  a  ferocious  watch-dog,  and  loaded  fire-arms  in  the 
sleeping-rooms  :  you  can  have  the  same  if  you  will." 

The  first  night  I  awoke  as  the  canopy  of  my  bedstead  fell 
down  over  me  ;  it  was  a  sort  of  assault,  not  what  I  expected. 
The  rats  ran  in  the  garret  overhead  in  the  old  house  ;  it  sounded 
like  footsteps.  I  was  up  several  times  this  first  night,  and 
looked  out  into  the  garden  ;  there  stood  a  rose-bush,  nothing 
more,  but  at  the  first  glance,  in  the  twilight,  it  looked  like  a 
lurking  figure  ;  the  wind  made  it  nod,,  like  the  "  Commandant  " 
in  '  Don  Juan  ;"  then  I  perceived  that  it  was  only  a  blossom- 
Ing  tree.  I  looked  out  over  the  ground  ;  down  in  the  valley ; 
from  the  carriage  road  went  men  with  gleaming  torches  :  what 
did  it  mean?  Very  likely  they  lighted  themselves  home, 


244  IN  PORTUGAL. 

along  the  uneven  path.  From  a  neighbor's  house  sounded  a 
frightful  growl.  It  was  a  lion,  which  was  kept  by  the  family, 
a  lion  from  Africa ;  but  it  was  chained,  they  told  me,  bound  as 
any  other  ferocious  house  animal.  The  wind  blew  violently  the 
first  night ;  it  roared  all  night  as  in  the  autumn  at  home.  I 
heard  it  as  when  it  told  me  of  "  Valdemar  Daa,"  and  "  A  Story 
from  the  Sand-hills."  I  thanked  God  that  I  was  not  on  the 
sea. 

"A  couple  of  miles  out  it  may  be  calm,"  they  told  me  ;  it 
is  the  Portuguese  coast  wind  which  blows,  and  makes  Portu- 
gal's climate  blessed  and  healthy. 

The  old  house  creaked,  the  trees  without  bent  themselves 
to  the  wind ;  how  much  it  was  like  home,  and  yet  I  was  miles 
away  from  my  father-land. 

The  first  Sunday  I  was  here,  and  a  couple  of  times  afterwards, 
I  went  with  Madame  O'Neill  and  the  sons,  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, to  Mass  in  the  neighboring  nuns'  cloister  ;  here  was  beau- 
tiful music ;  the  little  cloister-church  seemed  consecrated  to 
devotion  ;  we  were  obliged  to  kneel  on  the  cold  stone  floor  ; 
the  odor  of  the  incense,  and  melody  floated  around  us.  The 
church  music  I  here  heard  was  of  great  effect,  although  it 
was  executed  by  old  female  voices  :  in  great  tone  waves  rolled 
the  song ;  simple  voices  began  feebly,  swelled  higher  and 
higher  again  to  sink :  but  in  this  sinking,  this  dying  away  in 
harmony,  other  voices  lifted  themselves,  which  more  and  more 
increased  in  fullness,  again  to  die  away ;  it  was  strophe  and 
anti-strophe.  I  thought  upon  the  human  race,  waning  away 
toward  the  Eternal. 

Between  the  cloister  and  Lisbon  itself,  yet  nearer  this  one, 
is  placed  upon  a  height,  with  a  broad  view  over  Tejo  River,  one 
of  the  city's  largest  burial-grounds,  St.  Johannes'  cemetery. 
The  centre  is  occupied  by  a  chapel,  in  whose  many  niches 
stand  figures  of  saints  cut  in  marble,  but  poorer  work  I  have 
never  seen  ;  wry  figures  of  saints,  horrible  idiot  images  —  it 
is  a  sin  against  the  pure  marble.  Out  from  the  chapel,  mon- 
ument by  monument,  like  pyramids,  or  formed  like  small  heavy 
towers,  they  extended  themselves  in  alleys  ;  one  walks  here 
as  in  the  childhood  of  sculpture  art.  The  large  church-yard  I 
did  not  see ;  it  bears  the  name  "  Prazeres  "  which  means 


THE   CHURCH-YARD   OF  ST.   JOHN.  245 

pleasure:  the  Frenchman's  "plaisir."  One  could  believe  that 
a  humorist  had  baptized  the  place.  Equally  original  is  the 
name  on  the  palace  of  the  Queen  :  "  Necessidades,"  —  Neces- 
sity. 

There  is  a  long  road  around  the  city  wall ;  all  distances  are 
great,  and  carriage  fees  exorbitant ;  this  ought  not  to  be  per- 
mitted. For  a  ride  of  two  hours,  I  had  to  pay  each  time  2,700 
reis,  or  about  five  Danish  thalers. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Lisbon.  —  Camoens.  —  Castilho.  —  King  Fernando.  —  Retrospect  in  Portu 
gal's  History.  —  The  Corpus  Domini  Feast. 

AFTER  all  the  descriptions  I  had  read  of  Lisbon,  I  knew 
that  I  had  formed  a  certain  impression  of  this  city,  but 
how  different  it  appeared  before  me  in  reality,  —  how  light,  how 
handsome !  I  was  obliged  to  exclaim,  Where  are  the  dirty 
streets  that  I  have  read  about,  the  thrown  out  carcases,  the  wild 
dogs,  and  the  pitiful  figures  from  the  African  settlements,  who 
with  white  beards  upon  black  skins,  filled  with  disgusting  dis- 
eases, here  should  roam  around  ?  I  saw  nothing  of  all  this, 
and  when  I  spoke  about  it,  they  told  me  that  it  belonged  to  a 
time  thirty  years  ago  ;  many  remembered  it  full  well.  Now, 
there  are  broad,  clean  streets,  friendly  houses,  where  walls  are 
decorated  with  shining  squares  of  porcelain  with  drawings  blue 
on  white  ;  the  doors  and  the  balconies  are  painted  green  or 
red,  which  colors  appear  everywhere,  even  upon  the  casks  of 
the  water-carriers.  The  public  promenade,  a  long  narrow  gar- 
den in  the  centre  of  the  city,  is  in  the  evening  lighted  with 
gas ;  here  music  is  heard,  and  from  the  blossoming  trees  is 
shed  a  fragrance  almost  too  strong ;  it  is  as  if  one  stood  in  a 
spice  shop  or  a  confectionery,  just  when  vanilla  ices  were 
prepared  and  presented. 

In  the  principal  streets  there  is  life  and  commotion  :  light 
cabriolets  roll  by ;  heavy  peasant  wagons,  of  antediluvian 
appearance,  move  slowly,  drawn  by  oxen :  here  one  sees  a 
milk  peasant ;  he  is  on  foot,  and  has  two  or  three  cows  with 
him  ;  they  are  milked  in  the  street ;  usually  there  follows  a 
great  calf  with  leather  muzzle ;  he  only  receives  his  allotted 
portion  of  milk.  Great  theatre  placards  parade  the  streets. 
The  opera-house  was  closed  during  my  stay  here.  Price's 
Circus,  where  small  singing  pieces  and  operettas  were  given, 
as  well  as  the  theatre  Maria  Secundo,  were  the  most  visited  ; 


CAMOENS. 


247 


the  latter  is  not  large,  but  is  a  very  handsome  building  with 
rows  of  columns  and  statues,  opening  upon  a  large  square, 
planted  with  trees,  and  with  a  highly  ornan.ented  mosaic  pave- 
ment A  little  further  on  is  Gold  Street  —  Rua  do  ouro  ; 
here  live  all  the  goldsmiths ;  bazaar  after  bazaar  displays 
chains,  decorative  orders,  and  similar  glorious  things.  From 
this  street  one  comes  to  the  largest  square  of  the  city,  "  La 
Praca  do  Comercio; "  it  extends  even  to  the  open  marble-paved 
shore  of  the  Tejo  River,  where  the  ships  lie.  On  both  sides, 
the  city  rises  in  terraces  to  considerable  heights.  The  large 
Hotel  "  Braganza"  is  so  placed  that  one  from  its  cellar  win- 
dows looks  out  over  the  roof  of  a  five-story  house  in  the 
street  below.  The  many  lanes  and  streets  lying  higher  up 
are  connected  by  swinging  bridges  suspended  over  the  lower 
parts  of  the  city ;  Lisbon  thereby  acquires  a  certain  resem- 
blance to  Genoa  and  Edinburgh. 

In  the  elevated  and  most  frequented  part  of  the  city,  Cam- 
oen's  monument  is  to  be  erected.  The  spot  is  already  laid  out 
with  trees  and  flowers  ;  the  pedestal  is  raised,  but  not  yet  the 
statue,  for  it  was  rejected  ;  a  new  one  is  in  progress. 

I  inquired,  Will  Camoen's  slave  be  there  also  ?  I  imagined 
him  sitting  at  the  base,  stretching  out  the  hand,  as  in  Cam- 
oen's life-time  he  sat  in  the  streets  and  begged  for  his  poor 
forsaken  master,  who  nearly  died  of  starvation. 

Such  representation,  one  answered  me,  "  would  be  an  ever- 
lasting reproach  against  the  nation,"  who  had  not  thought  of 
its  great  poet  while  he  lived. 

What  the  monument  will  be  I  do  not  know  ;  his  own  work 
will  always  be  his  best  monument.  Through  it  is  Portugal's 
name,  more  than  through  bloody  battles  and  the  discovery  of 
new  lands,  fixed  in  the  memory  among  people  of  all  lands. 
His  life  gives  material  to  poetry,  and  is  also  used.  The 
Portuguese  Garret  has  gained  celebrity  through  his  "  Cam- 
oens,"  and  of  Tieck  we  have  the  beautiful  novel,  "The 
Death  of  the  Poet." 

Louis  de  Camoens  was  born  in  1517  ;  was  descended  from  a 
Spanish  family  ;  in  his  earliest  youth  he  lost  his  father  by 
shipwreck.  The  mother  was  poor,  but  however  sent  the 
growing  lad  to  the  University  of  Coimbra.  A  love  story  and 


248  fJV  PORTUGAL. 

some  satirical  poems  caused  him  to  leave  the  country,  and  in 
Africa  he  took  part  in  the  battle  against  the  Moors  ;  here  he 
began  his  great  work,  "  The  Lusiad,"  carrying,  as  he  himself 
says,  "  in  one  hand  the  pen,  in  the  other  the  sword."  He 
came  again  to  Lisbon,  but  his  poetical  genius  was  not  recog- 
nized ;  wherefore  he  again  turned  away,  sailed  to  Goa,  and 
took  honorable  part  in  the  war.  A  satirical  poem  of  his  awoke 
the  displeasure  of  the  Regent,  and  he  was  exiled  to  Macao, 
on  the  coast  of  China;  here  he  became  employed  as  com- 
missioner. In  the  five  years  he  remained  here,  he  com- 
pleted, or  rather  wrote  out  in  its  full  form,  "  The  Lusiad."  Not 
only  Vasco  de  Garna's  seafaring,  but  all  that  is  great,  beauti- 
ful, and  pathetic  in  Portuguese  history,  is  taken  up  in  this 
grand  poem,  which  was  born  under  the  clear  sunny  sky  of 
India.  One  is  shown  yet  in  Macao  a  grotto  in  which  Cam- 
oens  pursued  his  writing. 

At  last  he  received  permission  to  return  home,  but  on 
the  voyage  to  Goa  the  ship  was  wrecked ;  yet  he  succeeded 
in  swimming  with  his  manuscript  to  a  sand-bank,  which 
saved  him.  In  Goa  he  was  still  unfortunate ;  his  enemies  put 
him  in  the  debtors'  prison.  Freed  from  that,  he  again  returned 
to  Portugal ;  "  The  Lusiad  "  was  printed,  and  aroused  atten- 
tion. Don  Sebastian,  Portugal's  chivalric  and  romantic  king, 
allowed  the  poet  a  yearly  stipend,  which,  though  small,  —  it  was 
about  334  Danish  thalers,  —  ceased  entirely  after  the  death  of 
the  king,  when  Portugal  was  conquered  by  the  Spanish  King 
Philip  the  Second.  Camoens  died  miserably  in  a  hospital  in 
Lisbon.  His  black  slave  begged  in  the  streets  for  his  life's 
support.  There  was  not  found  after  him  so  much  as  would 
buy  a  shroud  ;  this  was  borrowed  for  him  —  the  pride  of  Por- 
tugal !  None  followed  him  to  the  grave,  none  know  where  it 
is.  To  the  last  moment,  in  sorrow  and  in  want,  in  the  utmost 
misery,  he  loved  his  father-land.  In  one  of  his  latest  letters 
he  writes  about  it,  —  "  Soon  is  my  life  at  an  end,  and  then  all 
will  know  how  dear  I  hold  my  father-land." 

The  Portuguese  literature  begins,  like  all  other  literature, 
with  the  poetry  of  the  people,  which  is  succeeded  by  the  art 
poetry,  which  here  became  court  poetry  —  brilliant,  pastoral 
poems.  Gil  Vicente  touched  again  the  people's  chords  in  his 


CAST1LHO. 

comedies,  but  met  great  opposition.  While  what  was  then 
called  the  classic  was  received,  the  national  poetry  was  near 
dying  out,  but  Camoens  heightened  its  significance  and 
grandeur  by  his  "  Lusiad."  It  gave  lustre  and  glory,  but 
the  darkness  soon  followed,  —  "  kling  klang,"  and  imitation, 
until  the  poets  again  through  the  popular  element  heightened 
its  significance :  thus  "  Gomez,"  who  wrote  the  tragedy 
"  Inez  de  Castro  ; "  Bocage,  whose  songs  penetrated  to  the 
people,  —  his  native  city  Setubal,  where  he  lived  in  poverty, 
now  raises  a  monument  in  his  honor.  In  our  times  the  poets 
again,  as  through  instinct,  grasp  the  national  chords  ;  here 
may  especially  be  mentioned  Carvalho  and  Garret.  The  latter 
has  picturesquely  sung  of  Portugal's  nature,  and  also  written 
the  great  poem  "  Camoens." 

One  of  the  most  noted  now  living  is  Antonio  Feliciano  de 
Castilho,  born  in  Lisbon  at  the  beginning  of  this  century. 
He  is  married  to  a  countrywoman  of  ours,  Miss  Vidul  from 
Helsingor. 

Castilho  belongs  to  a  family  in  whom  love  for  literature  was 
earnest.  In  his  sixth  year  he  had  small-pox,  and  in  this  sick- 
ness lost  his  sight  entirely  ;  but  his  desire  to  study  continually 
increased.  This  burning  wish,  in  unison  with  his  rich  talents, 
enabled  him  to  master  already  in  his  fifteenth  year,  grammar, 
history,  philosophy,  and  Greek.  Through  his  brother's  aid 
he  learned  to  know  the  classic  composers.  Before  the  age  of 
fourteen  he  had  written  a  Latin  verse  which  excited  attention  ; 
his  first  poem  in  the  mother  tongue  was  an  "  Elegy,"  at 
the  death  of  Queen  Maria  the  First.  He  devoted  himself, 
however,  to  the  study  of  botany,  history,  and  physics.  With 
his  brother  he  wandered  about  in  the  delightful  surroundings 
of  Coimbra ;  the  brother  was  eyes  for  him  —  with  him  and 
through  him  he  apprehended  the  whole  beauty  of  nature  so 
that  he  could  sing  of  it  in  a  poem,  "  The  Spring."  He  also 
wrote  in  Coimbra  the  pastoral  poem  "  Echo  e  Narcisso," 
which  in  a  few  years  passed  through  several  editions.  He 
translated  "  Ovid,"  and  developed  great  poetical  activity. 

A  young  lady,  Maria  Isabel  de  Buena  Coimbra,  was  edu- 
cated by  the  Benedictine  nuns  in  a  cloister  some  miles  from 
Oporto.  When  her  education  here  was  completed,  she  re- 


250  IN  PORTUGAL. 

mained  some  time  longer  in  the  cloister,  and  read  there  several 
Classics  and  modern  authors ;  she  read  the  poem  "  Echo  e 
Narcisso,"  and  wrote,  without  signing  herself,  these  words  to 
the  author:  "If  there  were  an  Echo,  would  it  not  respond 
to  Narcisso  ? " 

Now  commenced  a  correspondence  between  Castilho  and 
the  young  unknown.  After  a  time  he  asked  if  he  might  know 
her  name  ?  She  wrote  it ;  the  correspondence  continued,  and 
in  the  year  1834,  they  became  engaged  and  married.  Three 
years  after  she  died.  The  poem  he  wrote  to  her  memory  is 
placed  by  his  countrymen  by  the  side  of  the  best  in  literature. 
He  afterward  married  Charlotte  Vidul,  whose  father  was  Con- 
sul in  Helsingor.  With  her  help  has  Castilho  translated  in 
Portuguese,  Baggesen's  "  There  was  a  Time  when  I  was  very 
Little,"  Oehlenschlager's  "  Wonderful  Evening  Air,"  Boye's 
"  The  Church-bell  in  Farum,"  and  several  Danish  authors' 
lyric  and  narrative  poems ;  of  all  these  has  Boye's  poem  been 
most  popular  with  the  Portuguese. 

My  friend  George  O'Neill  took  me  one  day  to  Castilho,  who 
lived  in  a  high  street  out  toward  the  Tejo,  and  where  also, 
even  in  the  strongest  sun  heat,  a  refreshing  wind  from  the  sea 
blows  twice  a  day.  I  was  received  as  among  old  acquaint- 
ances and  friends  ;  Madame  Castilho,  O'Neill,  and  I  spoke 
Danish  together.  We  spoke  of  the  distant  Denmark,  which 
now  through  the  railroad  is  no  longer  so  far  away ;  the  cities, 
yes,  the  countries  themselves,  approach  each  other,  and  through 
the  telegraphic  thread,  America  itself  has  now  become  our 
nearest  neighbor  —  only  a  few  seconds  from  us  over  the 
world's  sea. 

The  excellent  Castilho  spoke  so  lively,  with  such  youthful 
freshness  ;  he  was  at  that  time  working  upon  a  translation  of 
"  Virgil ;  "  the  son,  who  is  also  a  poet,  and  very  talented, 
helps  the  blind  father  ;  the  daughter  is  the  youngest  and  has 
fine  eyes,  filled  with  the  southern  sun.  I  improvised  to  her 
a  little  poem  about  the  stars  I  had  before  seen  at  night,  but 
now  saw  in  the  bright  day. 

A  few  days  after,  Castilho  and  his  family  gladdened  me 
by  a  visit  at  my  home,  O'Neill's  country-place.  Among 
my  treasured  relics,  I  have  from  Castilho  a  couple  of  letters 


KING  FERNANDO.  2$  I 

dictated  in  French,  to  which  he  himself  signed  his  name. 
My  letters  to  him  were  written  in  Danish ;  he  gave  his  in 
French,  and  says  in  one  of  these,  "  We  speak  with  each  other 
as  '  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  ; '  my  wife  is  the  hedge."  Through 
Madame  Castilho's  aid  Danish  letters,  or  Danish  poetical 
works,  were  imparted  in  Portuguese  to  the  blind  poet. 

I  had  been  in  Pinieros  but  a  few  days,  when  I  was  informed 
through  O'Neill,  that  on  the  Monday  following  I  would  be 
received  by  his  Majesty  King  Fernando,  in  his  castle  in  the 
city.  This  had  formerly  been  a  cloister,  and  was  situated  very 
beautifully,  as  these  generally  are,  commanding  a  fine  view 
over  the  Tejo  River,  toward  where  it  enters  the  ocean. 

Old-fashioned  dressed  yeomen  of  the  guard,  not  unlike,  as 
regards  the  costume,  the  Papal  soldiers  in  the  Vatican,  pa- 
raded at  the  head  stair.  A  court  officer  conducted  me  to  the 
upper  part  of  the  castle,  where  Count  de  Foss,  to  whom  I  was 
commended,  received  me  in  a  large  apartment  hung  with 
paintings,  which  also  presented  well  mounted  arms  and  coats 
of  mail,  even  a  whole  chivalric  figure  on  horseback. 

King  Fernando,  a  tall,  very  handsome  man,  approached, 
mild  and  complacent,  to  meet  me,  spoke  about  my  writings, 
my  visit  here  in  Portugal,  and  mentioned  with  warm  expres- 
sions the  family  O'Neill.  He  himself  accompanied  me  through 
his  beautiful  large  garden,  where  rare  creeping  plants  covered 
in  rich  abundance  with  leaves  and  blossoms  the  high  walls  ; 
wonderfully  handsome  palm-trees  gave  shelter  with  their  large 
leafy  screens.  It  was  exceedingly  delightful.  The  whole  old 
dilapidated  and  overgrown  park  had,  through  the  King's  care 
and  taste,  been  changed  into  a  fresh,  charming  garden,  with 
grass  plats,  flowers,  and  large  hot-houses,  in  which  the  rarest 
tropical  plants  grew. 

At  my  departure  the  King  reached  me  his  hand,  and  added, 
"  We  will  not  say  farewell ;  we  meet  again."  There  was  some- 
thing so  hearty,  frank,  and  yet  royal  in  his  address,  that  ren- 
dered this  visit  dear  to  my  memory.  As  is  well  known,  King 
Fernando  is  father  to  the  now  reigning  King  Luis.  On  my 
course  homeward,  toward  the  quay,  through  the  streets  out  to 
Pinieros,  I  had  time  to  reflect  upon  the  history  of  this  country, 
and  to  follow  in  thought  the  events  of  the  past  thirty-three 


252  IN  PORTUGAL. 

years  in  the  land,  which  had  known  so  many  battles,  but  now 
seemed  to  grow  in  rest  and  blessing. 

John  the  Sixth,  King  of  Portugal  and  Brazil,  was,  under 
constitutional  condition  King  only  of  Portugal.  Brazil  had 
declared  itself  independent  under  his  eldest  son  Don  Pedro  ; 
the  younger  son,  Don  Miguel,  had  attempted  in  his  youth  to 
put  the  father  from  the  throne.  He  did  not  succeed,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  leave  the  land  ;  but  after  the  father's  death  he 
came  to  be  regarded  by  the  "  absolute  party  "  as  the  rightful 
heir ;  for  was  not  Don  Pedro  emperor  in  Brazil  ?  He,  how- 
ever, had  not  resigned  his  first-born  rights,  but  since  his  de- 
parture from  Portugal  had  transferred  these  to  his  daughter 
Maria  da  Gloria,  who  was  reared  in  Vienna,  at  her  grand- 
father's, the  Emperor  of  Austria.  When  she  on  her  home- 
ward journey  approached  the  Portugal  coast,  Don  Miguel 
forbade  her  to 'land;  she  sought  protection  of  England,  and 
thence  of  Brazil.  When  Don  Pedro  lost  power  there,  he  came 
to  Europe  to  protect  the  daughter's  rights,  and  the  conflict 
between  the  brothers  and  the  parties  began. 

Don  Miguel  was  young  and  passionate,  loved  animal  fights 
and  the  excitement  of  the  hunt ;  he  was  an  exquisite  rider :  it 
was  a  dark,  unhappy  time  under  his  dominion,  I  am  told. 
The  prisons  were  filled  with  political  prisoners  ;  in  the  prison 
chains  by  the  Tejo  there  were  men  of  all  classes  in  the  com- 
munity. In  the  flood  time  the  water  penetrated  into  the  pris- 
ons and  rose  high  up  around  their  bodies.  Through  the  wet 
clothing  and  the  dampness,  many  were  torn  away  by  sickness 
before  they  came  to  the  place  of  execution.  A  young  man 
confined  there  suffered  unspeakably  from  a  stomach  disorder ; 
his  bowels  swelled,  he  asked  for  a  physician,  and  one  came  ; 
rough  and  angry  he  compelled  the  prisoner  to  uncover  the  sick 
part  looked  at  it,  and  struck  him  a  blow  with  a  cane  upon  the 
stomach  as  he  said :  "  Eat  cucumbers,  and  then  you  will  surely 
die."  Executions  took  place  daily  on  the  public  square.  It 
was  a  time  filled  with  agony  and  terror.  Many  people  were 
yet  able  to  speak  of  it  from,  recollection ;  it  came  to  an  end  in 
the  beginning  of  the  year  1833,  when  Don  Pedro  became  vic- 
torious. It  was  miraculous  that  he  succeeded  in  landing  with 
his  little  fleet.  God  was  with  him ;  speedily  was  he  with  his 


RETROSPECT  IN  PORTUGAL'S  HISTORY.          253 

troops  on  the  other  side  of  the  Tejo  River  just  above  Lisbon, 
which  was  yet  in  the  hands  of  Don  Miguel's  army  ;  he  him- 
self was  not  far  from  there  in  Santarem.  Yet,  the  last  day  he 
was  there  several  political  prisoners  were  hung  in  Lisbon  on 
the  public  square ;  they  heard  the  cannon  boom  of  the  deliv- 
erer on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  but  for  them  it  was  not  the 
hour  of  deliverance.  Several  prisoners  who  were  to  suffer 
death  the  next  day  were  brought  into  the  chapel,  where  they, 
in  company  with  the  priests,  were  to  spend  their  last  night  in 
life  :  dared  they  hope  to  be  saved  ? 

The  "  Liberals  "  were  for  the  legitimate  Don  Pedro  and  his 
daughter,  the  "  Absolutes  "  for  Don  Miguel  ;  the  result  of  the 
victory  was,  that  this  one  was  forced  to  give  way.  What  a 
jubilee  !  The  air  shook  with  songs  and  joyful  acclamations. 
A  lady,  who  was  at  that  time  a  little  child,  told  me  what  an 
impression  she  received,  in  her  astonishment  and  inexperience, 
in  seeing  this  passionate  confusion.  The  dinner-table  stood 
set ;  the  little  one  had  placed  herself  there  all  alone  ;  no  one 
came  ;  she  saw  her  mother  stand  on  the  balcony  with  the  liberty 
flag  in  her  hand  and  sing  the  liberty  hymn ;  people  in  the 
streets  rejoiced  and  sang  ;  others  came  into  the  house,  spoke 
loudly,  and  embraced  each  other  ;  they  laughed,  they  cried. 
All  the  prisons  had  been  opened.  Strange  figures  moved 
about  in  the  happy  throng. 

In  the  year  1834  Maria  da  Gloria  entered  upon  her  reign  ; 
she  married  Duke  Ferdinand  of  Saxe-Coburg-Gotha,  who  re- 
ceived the  title  of  King,  and  with  whom  she  became  mother  of 
two  daughters  and  five  sons.  The  eldest,  Don  Pedro  the  Fifth, 
received  at  the  mother's  death  in  1853  the  reign  under  his 
father's  regency.  The  young  King  with  two  younger  brothers 
died  in  one  week  of  an  epidemic  in  the  castle  ;  he  is  spoken 
of  with  great  gratitude  and  affection  ;  his  monument  is  being 
raised.  The  fourth  younger  brother  Luis,  who  married  Victor 
EmanueFs  daughter  Pia,  is  now  regent.  This  is  the  short 
historical  sketch,  which  is  to  be  read  elsewhere  ;  but  I  have 
given  it  here  as  the  train  of  thought  which  I  had  when  return- 
ing from  my  visit  to  King  Ferdinand. 

The  son,  King  Luis,  I  had  not  yet  seen.  I  saw  him  for  the 
first  time  at  the  feast  of  Corpus  Domini,  which  was  still  cele- 


254  IN  PORTUGAL. 

brated  with  great  magnificence  in  the  capital.  This  time,  how- 
ever, it  failed  to  display  itself  perfectly :  there  was  a  pouring 
rain  ;  the  Queen  took  no  part  in  the  festivities  ;  only  the  young 
King  showed  himself.  The  procession  streamed  out  from  the 
church,  but  stopped  immediately  at  a  violent  shower  ;  when 
this  had  ceased,  it  again  advanced,  with  the  clergy  at  the 
head ;  after  this  followed  on  horse  a  representation  of  St. 
George,  —  a  large  wooden  figure  in  armor  with  lance  in  hand, 
which  at  the  horse's  steps  moved  itself  dangling  back  and 
forth.  Now  came  the  chevalier's  swain,  a  really  living  man, 
and  the  chevalier's  page,  one  of  the  handsomest  boys  that 
there  was  to  be  found  ;  one  saw  plainly  that  the  little  one 
was  afraid  to  sit  alone  on  the  big  horse.  After  these  they 
carried  the  Host  under  a  pompous  cloth  of  state.  The  King 
himself  was  one  of  the  foremost  bearers.  He  was  a  young, 
handsome  man,  very  blonde,  with  an  especially  mild  counten- 
ance :  he  was  clad  in  velvet  and  silk.  The  whole  procession 
was  not  yet  out  of  the  church,  when  the  rain  began  to  pour 
down ;  it  had  scarcely  arrived  before  the  house  where  I  was 
seated  on  the  balcony,  close  by  the  church,  when  it  turned 
back  again  ;  while  the  clergy,  and  St.  George's  effigy  with 
swain  and  page,  passed  through  the  streets  which  this  bad 
weather  had  emptied  of  people,  where  otherwise  the  country 
folk  in  holiday  attire  would  have  flocked. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  Month  in  Setubal.  — The  Country-place  Dos  Bonegos.—  The  Cloistci 
Brancanas-  —  In  the  Country.  —  St.  Anthony's  Feast.  —  The  Poet  For- 
tella.  —  Bull-fight.  —  The  "  Jesus  "  Church.  —  Silhouette  of  Setubal.  — 
Monte  Arrabida.  —  A  Sand-flight  —  Buried  City.  —  Evening  Moods. 

IT  was  early  morning,  the  sky  was  clear  and  blue,  even 
around  the  Cintras  Mountain  were  the  clouds  gone,  when 
we  drove  from  George  O'Neill's  villa  into  Lisbon,  a  half-hour's 
distance,  and  went  immediately  on  board  of  the  steamer  which 
stood  in  daily  communication  with  the  railroad  upon  the  south 
side  of  Tejo  River,  which  here  is  broad  as  a  great  inland  sea ; 
the  steamer  takes  nearly  an  hour  to  cross  it. 

The  vessel  was  filled  with  passengers  and  baggage  ;  the 
trip  began,  there  was  a  wonderful  stillness  and  earnestness 
on  board ;  the  gentlemen  sat  and  read  newspapers,  the  ladies 
sheltered  themselves  under  their  parasols ;  one  did  not  get 
at  all  the  impression  of  southern  vivacity,  but  they  all  showed 
themselves  complaisant  and  polite  toward  the  stranger.  Fur- 
ther up  in  the  country  the  river  broadens,  the  water-mirror 
melts  into  the  horizon ;  toward  the  mouth  at  the  ocean  it  is 
limited  by  the  coasts  that  jut  out ;  the  whole  shore  is  as  if 
hewn,  and  most  conspicuous  are  the  royal  castle  and  the  old 
Belem. 

The  sun  shone  in  the  clear  air,  and  on  the  still  surface  of 
the  water,  and  before  us  reposed  upon  her  bold  heights  the 
city  of  Lisbon  as  a  faint  photographed  outline  of  buildings ; 
as  we  came  further  out  all  took  more  distinct  form,  like  mighty 
billows  of  houses  and  palaces.  The  south  shore  of  the  river, 
toward  which  we  steered,  lifts  itself  with  the  cloister  buildings, 
the  ramparts,  and  the  pine  forests.  Over  an  interminably  long 
wooden  bridge  we  arrived  at  the  depot  for  Setubal. 

Before  the  railroad  was  established,  the  main  high-road  led 
by  the  high-lying  fortress  Palmella,  which,  like  an  "Acrop- 


256  IN  PORTUGAL. 

olis,"  lifts  itself  above  the  outstretched  plan;  the  road  was 
then  utterly  unsafe,  no  one  travelled  withoat  escort.  There 
is  little  to  be  seen  of  the  old  mighty  cork-forests ;  they 
are  partly  burnt  down.  The  forest  fires  had  here  been  so 
strong,  that  persons  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  in  Lisbon 
itself,  felt  the  heat.  The  railroad  takes  a  curve  toward  the  east, 
away  over  a  stretch  of  sand,  with  growing  maize  and  vines ; 
the  inclosure  consists  of  large  aloes  ;  a  plantation  of  low  cactus, 
with  its  yellow  flowers,  spreads  like  a  net  grasping  the  loose, 
sandy  earth.  Under  Palmella's  mountain  ridges  the  country 
grows  more  picturesque,  and  soon  we  have  before  us  Setubal, 
the  Englishman's  St.  Ybes,  where  one  orange  grove  beside  an- 
other fills  the  valley  between  Palmella,  St.  Luis,  and  Monte 
Arrabida,  out  toward  the  ocean. 

Carlos  O'Neill's  carriage  waited  at  the  depot,  and  soon  we 
drove  away  through  a  part  of  the  city  which  did  not  lack  its 
green-painted  balconies,  out  through  the  arches  of  the  aqueduct, 
through  the  deep  sand,  and  soon  over  the  hard,  naked,  rocky 
ground ;  the  road  seems  to  have  become  of  itself  a  natural 
cut,  in  several  places  so  narrow  that  two  carriages  could  not 
go  abreast,  and  then  again  broad  enough  for  four.  At  the  first 
glance,  I  thought  I  saw  at  all  the  turns  raised  telegraph  poles  ; 
but  seen  nearer,  they  proved  a  far  more  glorious  sight, — 
flowering  aloes,  the  one  close  by  the  other,  each  blossom  stalk 
certainly  over  ten  yards  high,  with  about  thirty  branches. 
They  were  like  bronze  candelabras  which  carried  on  each  arm 
a  cup  of  yellow  flowers.  Before  me  on  the  height  I  beheld 
the  fortress  Palmella ;  nearer,  between  mighty  trees  filled  with 
shadows,  the  now  deserted  monastery  Brancanas  ;  and  close  to 
this  my  new  home,  Carlos  O'Neill's  country-place,  "  Dos  Bone- 
gos,"  the  doll-house,  —  a  name  this  building  received  when 
new  from  those  living  near ;  the  many  statues,  busts,  and 
vases  with  which  the  house  and  the  terraces  are  ornamented, 
called  forth  the  name. 

To  the  building's  physiognomy  belongs,  also,  the  high, 
whizzing,  swift-turning  wind-mill,  which  raises  the  water  from 
the  deep  wells  up  to  the  large  basins,  from  which,  through 
pipes,  it  spouts  forth  and  refreshes  the  garden.  A  large 
splendid  palm-tree  spreads  its  screen  before  my  balcony,  over 


THE  COUNTRY-PLACE   "DOS  BONEGOS."          257 

shadowing  the  masoned  basin  and  fountains.  The  garden 
parted  itself  in  several  terraces  ;  broad  stone  steps  descended 
from  the  highest  down  to  a  large  flower-parterre.  What 
gorgeous  colors  !  What  a  variety  of  flowers  !  Even  from  the 
cracks  in  the  wall  shot  forth  pinks  and  cactuses,  which  we  at 
home  in  the  North  would  cultivate  in  hot-houses.  The  pepper- 
tree  bent  itself  like  a  weeping-willow  over  the  large  water 
reservoirs  where  gold-fish  swam  and  the  white  water-lilies 
grew.  We  again  step  down  stone  stairs,  and  stand  in  the 
fruit  garden ;  lemon  and  orange-trees  are  laden  with  fruit, 
modestly  offering  their  fragrant  white  blossoms.  Here  are 
freshness,  luxuriance,  shade,  and  rippling  waters.  From  the 
uppermost  reservoirs,  where  large  turtles  swim  about,  is  carried 
in  the  Moorish  manner,  through  pipes  toward  the  garden's 
wall,  the  fresh,  clear  water  down  to  the  several  terraces,  where 
it  waters  each  separate  fruit-tree.  A  little  deeper  lies  the  vine- 
yard with  its  full,  rich  foliage,  and  heavy,  juicy  grapes. 

In  the  last  days  on  "  Pinieros  "  the  summer  had  just  begun  ; 
here  on  Bonegos  one  was  in  the  midst  of  it.  It  was  extremely 
warm  ;  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day  doors  and  windows  were 
closed  tight,  not  a  sunbeam  could  penetrate  ;  it  became  half 
dark  in  rooms  that  were  otherwise  light  and  airy,  decorated 
with  paintings,  statues,  and  groups  in  sculpture.  Here  were  a 
library,  bath-rooms,  and  billiard  hall,  and  above  all,  here  were 
lovely  people. 

By  day,  one  could  barely  endure  it,  under  the  closest  shadow 
of  the  trees ;  and  were  one  to  venture  out  from  the  shade  into 
the  sunshine,  he  advanced  but  slowly  under  a  wide-spread  um- 
brella. It  was  refreshing  morning  and  evening,  to  step  out 
into  the  still,  pleasant  air.  What  a  paradise  of  delights  all 
around !  I  experienced  a  peace,  a  rest,  which  I  could  wish  to 
all  men.  In  the  orange  grove  night  fell  soonest ;  the  dark 
closed  in  between  the  trees,  every  leaf  became  like  black 
velvet,  and  through  the  trees  glimmered  the  beautiful  fire-flies. 
Lights  twinkled  from  Setubal's  white  houses  ;  the  high  sand 
reeds  could  be  seen  out  toward  the  dark-blue  ocean,  and 
suddenly  the  stars  were  lighted.  All  this  magnificence  can- 
not be  painted,  nor  given  in  words.  A  narrow  ravine  over- 
grown with  vine  branches,  where  the  clear  waters  of  a  little 

17 


258  IN  PORTUGAL. 

rivulet  trickle  under  blossoming  pomegranate  bushes,  marks 
the  limit  between  this  estate  and  the  old  cloister  Brancanas, 
so  named  after  the  lady  who  founded  it,  "  Branca  Annas." 
Here,  as  everywhere  in  Spain  and  Portugal,  were  all  the  monks 
driven  away  during  the  Revolution.  A  poor  married  couple  now 
live  in  the  cloister  and  take  charge  of  the  large,  dilapidated 
building:  only  a  wooden  pin  holds  the  door.  In  the  chuuh 
God's  service  is  no  longer  performed  ;  this  is  held  in  one  of  the 
small  rooms  in  O'Neill's  villa,  and  when  there  is  not  place 
enough  within,  they  kneel  devoutly  out  in  the  garden  before 
the  open  door  of  the  chapel. 

Our  neighbor  "  Martinez "  had  the  keys  to  the  cloister's 
church,  cells,  and  hall.  I  saw  these  with  him ;  were  the 
walls  taken  down  between  the  two  nearest  cells,  these  would 
become  a  large  room  commanding  the  most  delightful  view, 
partly  over  the  orange  groves  in  the  valley,  and  partly  of  Setu- 
bal,  the  bay,  and  the  open  sea.  High  above  all,  there  stood 
unchanged  the  cells  of  the  novices  ;  they  were  like  prisons 
with  small  loop-holes.  There,  high  up,  out  toward  the  inner 
cloister,  is  a  long  inclosed  passage,  sad  and  dreary,  a  long 
grave  to  walk  in  ;  one  thinks  here  only  on  death  and  burial : 
but  the  gate  opens  out  upon  the  balcony,  whose  walls  and 
seats  are  ornamented  with  porcelain  squares  ;  there  the  light 
streams  in  together  with  the  perfume  of  orange  blossoms,  and 
one  enjoys  the  most  delightful  view  ;  yet  it  is,  however,  more  ex- 
tended from  the  cloister's  flat  roof  over  the  novices'  cells.  The 
place  became  to  me  yet  more  interesting  when  I  afterward  on 
foot,  in  the  carriage,  or  on  my  donkey,  had  tumbled  myself  far 
and  near,  in  the  valley  and  on  the  mountain,  until  each  project- 
ing point  was  a  known  place  to  me,  whose  whole  magnificence 
I  remember.  The  cloister  garden,  with  its  cypresses  and  cork- 
trees, is  not  separated  by  either  wall  or  hedge  from  the  adjoin- 
ing gardens  ;  in  these  fine  country-seats  dwell  only  the  gar- 
dener's family  ;  the  owner  prefers  gei-erally  to  be  in  the  city. 

The  mountain  side  around  Brancanas  has  a  thicket,  which, 
throughout  the  whole  warm  summer-time,  keeps  wonderfully 
green.  On  the  summits  are  many  wind-mills.  The  garden  in 
the  valley  contained  its  lemon  and  orange-trees,  which  alter- 
nated with  vine  arbors,  where  the  branches  were  supported 


IN  THE    COUNTRY. 


259 


upon  masoned  arches.  The  pomegranate  stood  in  its  splen- 
dor, with  fire-red  blossoms  and  shining  green  leaves  ;  the  mag- 
nolia displayed  its  great  white  lotus  blossoms. 

O'Neill's  son,  Carlos,  and  I  visited  a  little  deserted  cloister 
on  the  mountain  side  under  Palmella ;  we  rode  from  there  up 
to  the  main  fortress.  The  high-road  here,  which  was  formerly 
the  only  one  between  Setubal  and  Lisbon,  could  not  now  be 
travelled  with  common  light  carriages  ;  we  went  on  as  over 
barricades  ;  large  stones  were  loosened  and  thrown  around. 
But  what  views  opened  the  higher  one  mounted !  Deep  be- 
low, the  orange  gardens,  with  Setubal,  the  ocean,  the  entire 
bay,  and  the  Adolph  River  with  its  windings.  It  became  win- 
try cold  up  here  ;  the  wind  was  as  piercing  as  on  an  October 
day  in  the  North  ;  I  was  glad  to  put  my  thick  winter  cloak  on. 
At  last  we  were  under  the  ruined  walls  of  the  fortress,  and  the 
view  northward  opened  itself:  before  us  the  cork  forests  down 
toward  Tejo  ;  upon  the  opposite  shore  Lisbon,  illumined  by  the 
setting  sun  ;  the  mountains  around  Cintra  lifted  themselves 
against  the  blue  sky.  It  was  not  easy  to  tear  one's  self  away 
from  this  view,  but  the  evening  fell,  we  were  obliged  to  turn 
homeward  ;  the  horse  that  my  young  friend  Carlos  rode  made 
bold  leaps  of  the  depths  and  chasms,  while  I  kept  the  broad 
road,  which  in  Denmark  would  be  called  "  neck-breaking." 
We  sang  our  songs ;  the  air  resounded  with  Portuguese,  Span- 
ish, Danish,  and  Swedish  melodies  ;  as  soon  as  we  ceased,  a 
wonderful  silence  prevailed ;  the  darkness  spread  forth  from 
the  thick  bushes.  Here  was  a  scene  for  a  whole  robber  story, 
and  sure  enough  more  than  one  has  here  developed  itself,  for 
not  ten  years  ago  this  region  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  noto- 
rious. They  told  me  of  a  young  countryman  who  was  known 
for  the  boldness  he  displayed  in  the  bull-fights,  —  throwing 
himself  between  the  bull's  horns  and  letting  himself  be  lifted ; 
the  daring  he  showed  in  the  wild  boar  hunt :  he  had  one  time 
struggled  with  the  boar  single-handed  ;  both  fell  to  the  ground, 
and  he  succeeded  in  killing  the  animal  with  his  knife.  A 
half  score  years  since,  when  the  robbers  yet  ravaged  here,  he 
rode  hunting  with  his  servant ;  the  man  saw  in  the  distance 
two  human  heads  dart  forth  from  the  bushes  ;  he  told  his 
master  of  it.  "  It  signifies  nothing,"  replied  he,  but  under  his 


26O  ~V  PORTUGAL. 

mantle  he  prepared  his  fire-arms,  and  when  they  were  near 
enough,  he  cried,  "  Answer  me,  who  are  you,  or  I  fire."  No 
response  followed,  and  the  bullet  passed  through  a  robber's 
breast.  The  other  one  discharged  his  shot  and  then  took 
flight,  but  at  the  same  moment  a  second  shot  from  the  young 
man  entered  his  back.  Those  were  unquiet  times  ;  now  it  is 
peaceful  and  secure,  although  high  up  in  the  northern  prov- 
inces one  still  hears  about  robbers  and  their  exploits. 

I  made  a  longer  journey  in  the  warm  sunshine  on  one  of  the 
following  days  up  to  the  near-lying  Mont  Luis.  Carlos  was 
on  foot,  with  gun  in  hand  seeking  for  game.  I  sat  on  my  don- 
key. From  the  vineyards,  which  were  surrounded  by  high, 
thick  canes,  we  came  out  on  the  trackless  ground  ;  my  donkey 
absolutely  refused  to  take  a  step,  Carlos  was  obliged  to  drag 
it  forward  by  the  reins;  unwilling  it  stepped  up  toward  the 
mountain  path,  which  was  scarcely  perceptible  because  of  the 
rains  which  had  washed  over  it ;  soon  a  heather  bush  stood  in 
the  way,  and  again  a  great,  blooming  thistle  of  the  loveliest 
blue  color ;  the  higher  we  ascended,  the  richer  became  the  veg- 
etation ;  here  grew  in  multitudes  a  sort  of  pale-red  rose  with- 
out thorns,  a  variety  of  heather,  and  a  profusion  of  flowers 
unknown  to  me,  and  strong  exhaling  herbs ;  my  track  disap- 
peared entirely,  the  stones  rolled  under  the  donkey's  feet,  which 
stepped  with  uncertainty,  always  guided  and  urged  forward  by 
Carlos,  who  also  lost  his  footing  several  times  and  constantly 
presented  his  gun-barrel  toward  my  face.  "  Is  it  loaded  ? "  I 
asked.  "  Yes,"  he  replied,  and  then  it  was  raised,  but  it  soon 
sank  again ;  yet  all  around  was  spread  such  glory  that  I  forgot 
death's  key-hole.  The  clouds  lay  heavily  off  Monte  Arra- 
bida,  and  threw  darkness  into  the  deep  valley  beneath.  The 
higher  we  came,  the  higher  the  outstretched  ocean  lifted  itself 
in  the  horizon  ;  all  nature  preserved  a  sternness,  a  stillness 
that  was  not  interrupted  by  even  a  bird.  It  was  as  before 
the  creation  of  the  animals.  Several  times  was  I  forced  to 
turn  away  from  the  mighty  view,  because  my  donkey  went  so 
close  to  the  steep  edge  of  the  rock,  and  it  made  me  dizzy  to 
look  into  the  abyss.  .. 

After  an  hour's  ride  we  began  to  descend  along  well  marked 
paths  ;  we  perceived  a  lonely  house,  we  were  obliged  to  stop 


IN  THE  COUNTRY.  2t)T 

to  give  the  donkey  some  water  ;  we  left  it  in  charge  of  a  peas- 
ant, who  tethered  it  by  a  large,  blooming  laurel-tree.  Carlos 
wanted  to  shoot ;  I  followed  him  on  foot  through  the  vineyard, 
into  the  rich  leafy  forest,  where  a  clear  stream  wound  itself 
and  formed  small  falls  over  the  rocks.  The  unusually  long 
ride,  and  the  somewhat  uncomfortable  wandering  over  the  un- 
even ground  had  made  me  tired.  Carlos  hastened  irresistibly 
forward,  and  proposed  to  me  to  remain  behind  ;  here  was  a 
beautiful  moss-grown  spot  among  the  myrtles  and  mint ;  he 
would  come  back  again  and  find  me  where  I  sat,  and  he  soon 
disappeared  behind  the  bushes.  Never  can  I  forget  the  mo- 
ments I  here  passed,  far  from  all,  entirely  alone  in  the  still- 
ness, this  wood-lonesome-ness.  I  thought  little  of  robbers, 
or  of  wild  boars,  —  the  latter  were  here  to  fear,  —  I  felt  myself 
so  filled  with  nature's  delight,  in  the  bright,  mild,  warm  air.  It 
was  as  a  church-going  in  the  great,  foreign,  God's  nature. 

I  rested  some  moments,  but  then  had  the  desire  to  venture 
deeper  within  the  forest  glades,  thinking  that  if  I  did  not  find 
Carlos,  I  could  nevertheless  find  my  way  back  again  to  the 
spot  where  the  donkey  stood.  Soon  the  forest  grew  thicker  ; 
here  was  a  wealth  of  blossoming  myrtle  hedges,  old  trees  lifted 
their  crowns,  the  path  which  I  took  grew  narrower,  presently 
disappeared  entirely.  I  thought  of  turning  back,  when  before 
me,  upon  a  large  moss-grown  rock,  where  the  running  rivulet 
formed  a  clear  basin,  I  saw  my  young  hunter  at  rest ;  it  was 
a  perfect  living  picture  full  of  harmony,  the  wonderful  blend- 
ing of  north  and  south  which  the  plant  world  here  presented, 
showed  itself  also  in  his  whole  being ;  the  brave,  manly,  sun- 
burnt face,  the  coal-black  hair  and  eyelashes,  the  eyes  of  light, 
pure  blue,  and  the  mournful  smile  about  the  mouth,  perhaps  laid 
there  in  the  last  months'  sorrow.  An  only  sister,  but  fourteen 
years  of  age,  the  household's  treasure  and  loved  one,  had  God 
Called  to  Himself;  it  had  put  out  the  sunshine  in  the  parents' 
glad  home,  and  extinguished  the  smile  upon  the  brother's  lips. 
I  roused  him  from  this  solitude,  and  we  soon  got  back  together. 
We  commenced  our  journey  homeward  ;  birds  showed  them- 
selves on  the  wing,  the  desire  to  hunt  revived  in  my  young 
guide,  and  he  was  again  out  of  sight.  I  let  the  reins  hang 
loose,  the  donkey  knew  the  way  better  than  I,  and  when  I 


262  IN  J'OA  TUGAL. 

once  more  saw  the  cloister  Brancanas,  then  I  knew  how  to 
direct  my  steps  to  reach  home.  The  sun  was  hot,  my  donkey 
would  scarcely  put  a  foot  forward,  when  all  at  once  it  stopped, 
pricked  its  ears,  gave  forth  a  terrible  yell,  threw  its  legs  into 
the  air,  and  took  to  running.  It  was  a  female  ass  with  its 
handsome  burden,  a  country  matron,  that  appeared.  My 
donkey  made  high  springs ;  in  vain  I  tried  to  control  it. 
At  last  I  was  forced  to  dismount  and  lead  it.  Thoroughly 
roasted  by  the  sun,  at  last,  after  a  couple  of  hours'  wandering, 
I  reached  Bonegos,  where  a  warm  bath  refreshed  my  weary 
limbs. 

After  sunset  I  sat  upon  the  terrace  under  the  tall  palm-tree 
by  the  fountain.  The  beauty  of  nature  around  me,  the  delight 
of  the  evening,  the  mood  it  inspired,  is  preserved  in  remem- 
brance, but  cannot  be  rendered  in  words,  yet  I  tried  to  put  it 
upon  paper,  in  verse  for  myself  and  for  friends. 

It  was  the  feast  of  St.  Antonio.  Out  upon  the  evening 
flared  large  flambeaux,  some  upon  the  heights  as  far  as  eye 
could  reach,  and  part  before  the  country  people's  houses  in 
the  orange  gardens ;  here  young  men  and  maidens  danced 
around  the  fire  till  early  morning  ;  the  whole  of  Setubal  lay  in 
brilliancy  and  glory,  torch  upon  torch  shone  upon  the  squares, 
through  the  streets,  and  in  the  lanes.  Rockets  rose  from  the 
city,  from  the  shipping,  and  even  from  the  canes  on  the  sand, 
where  a  lonely  sailor  or  shepherd  happened  accidentally. 

Our  neighbor  "  Martinez  "  drove  me  and  my  friend's  little 
niece  into  the  city,  that  we  might  witness  the  flaming  glory. 
It  was  altogether  a  break-neck  course,  along  the  terribly 
slippery  and  winding  way,  where  we  drove  rapidly  through  the 
darkness.  We  came  swiftly  into  the  dazzling  light  of  the 
great  flaming  piles  before  the  buildings  ;  we  drove  ahead  until 
we  arrived  in  the  midst  of  the  city ;  then  we  advanced  but 
slowly ;  nearly  all  the  people  were  out  in  the  streets,  great 
throngs  filled  the  narrow  lanes,  where  in  one  place  or  another 
was  raised  a  figure  of  St.  Antonio,  illuminated  with  lamps,  or 
an  altar  lighted  with  candles  was  raised  to  the  saint's  honor.  A 
whole  procession  made  up  of  the  sea-faring  people  marched,  fol- 
lowed by  women  and  children,  with  songs  and  music  of  flutes, 
pipes,  and  drums.  In  several  lanes  which  we  were  obliged  to 


THE  POET  FOR  TELL  A.  263 

take,  it  was  rothing  for  them  to  drive  through  a  bonfire  ;  little 
boys,  half  naked,  amused  themselves  with  running  through  the 
fire  ;  burning  coals  and  sparks  flew  in  all  directions.  Fire- 
works and  rockets  flew  above  us  and  under  us ;  they  spurted 
and  whizzed  away  over  the  pavement,  over  the  carriage,  and 
under  the  horse's  feet ;  that  he  did  not  run  away  is  to  me  quite 
as  incomprehensible  as  that  we  escaped  through  all  this  fire 
and  all  this  darkness  which  alternated  with  each  other.  I  was 
fully  prepared  to  break  a  leg  or  an  arm. 

The  city  under  this  festive  illumination  became  very  lively 
and  gay  ;  in  the  day-time,  on  the  contrary,  when  the  sun  shone, 
it  had  a  quiet,  forsaken  aspect.  In  the  streets,  or  away  over 
the  squares,  there  walked  only  some  solitary  person  under  a 
wide  umbrella,  or  upon  his  horse  or  his  donkey  a  man  rode 
alone.  The  largest  and  handsomest  of  the  squares  is  unde- 
niably the  one  that  bears  the  name  of  the  Portuguese  poet, 
"  Bocage,"  who  was  born  in  Setubal,  and,  as  is  usually  the  case, 
died  in  destitution  ;  but  now,  a  monument  is  to  be  erected  to 
him,  for  which  contributions  are  received.  Setubal  is  proud 
of  its  poet. 

One  of  Portugal's  young  and  promising  poets,  Portella,  who 
lives  here,  and  has  published  a  volume  of  poems,  encouraged 
by  the  highly  esteemed  poet  Castilho,  wrote  in  the  city  papers, 
upon  my  arrival,  a  poetical  piece  in  prose,  —  a  salutation  to  the 
Northern  Poet  in  Bocage's  city. 

Setubal  appears  most  beautiful  from  the  river ;  one  sees  the 
city  in  its  whole  expanse,  with  the  somewhat  dilapidated  houses. 
There,  in  the  direction  of  the  old  fortress,  is  situated  the  office 
and  yard  of  the  brothers  Carlos  and  Edward  O'Neill,  with  its 
hanging  garden,  a  true  old  consulate  building.  One  enters 
through  a  sort  of  corridor ;  a  broad,  palace-like  stairway  leads 
up  to  the  office  ;  the  corridor  and  the  stairway  are  emblazoned 
with  the  coats  of  arms  of  almost  all  countries,  painted  upon 
slabs  of  wood,  as  consulate  signs.  It  was  a  whole  picture- 
gallery,  a  congress  of  powers,  —  England,  Russia,  Prussia, 
France,  Denmark.  Norway,  the  Papal  States,  —  yes,  I  do  not 
believe  that  any  European  country  was  omitted,  —  the  United 
States  of  America  also  was  represented  with  its  shield  and 


264  IN  PORTUGAL. 

Setubal  has  a  military  guard  in  the  opposite  building ;  the 
old  fort  is  the  caserne  ;  as  far  as  I  saw  they  were  young  men, 
sunburnt  under  the  scorching  rays.  In  an  enormous  garden 
attached  to  the  city,  where  a  band  of  music  played  on  Sunday 
afternoons,  the  people's  life  was  exhibited,  but  not  noisy  and 
heated  as  is  usual  with  the  South  ;  the  good  burgher  women 
sat  serious  and  quiet  upon  the  seats,  the  men  moved  about 
more  lively  up  and  down.  The  only  noisy  amusement  I  found 
was  at  St.  Antonio's  feast  mentioned  before,  and  at  a  great 
bull-fight  which  was  held  on  St.  Peter's  Day,  in  an  amphitheatre 
raised  between  the  city  and  the  railroad  station. 

All  of  the  barbarous  and  bloody  that  a  bull-fight  can  present 
in  Spain  is  changed  somewhat  for  the  better.  Under  Don 
Pedro  its  worst  features  have  disappeared.  The  bull's  horns 
are  bound  around,  that  the  poor  horses  should  not  be  killed. 

The  amphitheatre  is  a  large  square  building,  with  boxes 
through  the  three  stories,  all  under  roof;  the  arena,  on  the  con- 
trary, eight-cornered,  under  open  skies.  It  was  mostly  the 
common  people,  peasants,  and  fishermen,  whom  I  here  saw 
congregated  ;  the  boxes  were  filled  full,  and  presented  the  most 
motley  appearance.  The  orchestra  played  the  Spanish  Bolero ; 
now  appeared  on  horseback  a  gayly  attired  young  man  with 
hair  well  arranged,  saluting  upon  all  sides  ;  the  bull  was  let 
in  ;  it  was  not  long  before  an  arrow  was  lodged  in  the  neck  and 
side.  Two  young  countrymen,  who  stood  for  these  bull-fights, 
appeared,  and  showed  themselves  as  well  exercised  "  Banderil- 
leros  ; "  they  were  handsome  men,  dressed  in  velvet  and  gold, 
with  well-dressed  hair,  as  if  going  to  a  ball.  Beside  these 
were  yet  three  older  "  Banderilleros,"  and  some  peasants  in 
white  trousers  and  many  colored  flowered  jackets.  As  in 
Spain,  so  also  here  :  after  the  fight  the  bar  was  raised  for  a 
drove  of  tame  bulls  with  bells  around  their  necks  ;  they  brought 
the  fighting  bulls,  which  were  bellowing  and  dripping  with 
blood  from  the  many  arrows  which  had  been  stuck  into  them, 
away  from  the  place  of  conflict.  Something  new,  which  I 
had  not  seen  in  Spain,  was  that  the  peasants  who  had  brought 
the  bulls  in  from  the  country,  showed  also  their  daring :  they 
placed  themselves  immediately  before  the  door  of  the  stall,  or 
laid  themselves  down  upon  the  ground  before  it,  and  awaited 


THE  "JESUS"   CHURCH.  265 

the  attack  of  tne  bulls ;  but  knew  just  when  to  run,  or  for  one 
to  swing  himself  audaciously,  to  escape  the  goring,  between  the 
horns  of  the  animal,  and  riding  a  little  ways  with  him,  to  the 
general  merriment.  The  other  peasant  now  grasped  firmly  the 
bull's  horns  and  neck,  collected  all  his  strength,  and  delivered 
his  comrade.  One  of  these  brave  peasants  was  trampled  upon 
by  the  furious  bull,  and  they  were  obliged  to  carry  him  away  to 
have  his  leg  amputated.  In  this  kind  of  bull-fight,  private  in- 
dividuals take  part ;  and  it  was  said  that  Don  Miguel  was 
banished  just  because  he  had  exhibited  great  audacity  herein, 
and  through  it  obtained  the  people's  jubilant  applause. 

It  was  only  thus  at  festive  occasions  that  I  saw  in  the  city 
any  numbers  of  people,  which  were  then  in  the  churches ;  of 
these  I  will  in  a  few  words  mention  the  "Jesus"  Church,  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  of  the  smaller  churches  that  I  have  yet  seen. 
It  has  something  very  airy  and  light  in  its  construction  :  each 
single  pillar  is  formed  of  three  others,  slender  and  graceful, 
which  entwine  together  in  spiral  form  ;  the  exquisite  carved 
altar  is  emblazoned  with  gilding  ;  the  entire  lower  portion  of 
the  walls  are  covered  with  porcelain  squares,  which  have 
pious  illustrations  of  a  book  of  legends.  Among  the  Church's 
collection  of  paintings  are  two  works  of  Portugal's  greatest 
and  most  famous  artist,  "  Gran  Vasco  ;  "  they  reminded  me,  in 
color  and  drawing,  of  Holbein. 

In  the  bay  lay  the  ships  with  the  flags  of  various  nations, 
and  simple  pleasure  boats  belonging  to  the  citizens  of  Setubal. 
On  Edward  O'Neill's  boat  waved  the  Danish  flag  ;  it  was  a 
nice  little  craft.  Mr.  Arenz,  a  Portuguese  gentleman,  had  a 
similar  one.  This  man  became  interesting  to  me  through  his 
talent  for  languages  ;  he  spoke  Danish  very  well,  though  he  had 
never  been  in  Denmark,  — in  fact  never  had  passed  the  limits 
of  his  father  land.  The  relations  in  which  he  stood  with  the 
sea-captains  from  Denmark,  Norway,  and  Sweden  had  enabled 
him  to  appropriate  the  languages  of  these  countries,  and  to 
speak  with  the  three  nations  in  their  mother  tongue. 

By  the  quay  lay  large  fishing  boats  one  could  enjoy  a  little 
sail,  if  he  would  visit  Setubal's  Pompeii,  —  the  buried,  but 
partially  excavated  fisher  village  "  Troja ;"  or  the  distant  Monte 
Arrabida  with  its  dilapidated  Trappist  cloister  and  monstrous 


266  IN  FOR  TUGAL. 

caverns.  Upon  a  beautiful  sunshiny  day,  but  alas  quite  late, 
for  the  ebb  had  already  commenced,  I,  with  Carlos  O'Neill  and 
his  family,  stepped  into  one  of  these  boats,  rowed  by  several 
strong  sailors.  We  sat  under  the  outstretched  awning  :  the 
boat  steered  out  to  the  open  Atlantic,  and  tossed  not  a  little  ; 
the  salt  water  splashed  over  us.  It  was  a  beautiful  view 
which  we  had  as  we  swung  past  Setubal.  First  came  the 
long  row  of  white  houses,  with  green  painted  balconies,  red 
doors  and  gates.  The  churches  appeared  a  little  above  the 
houses.  The  ships  displayed  their  flags  in  the  harbor;  there 
were  Russian,  French,  and  Spanish.  The  city  was  behind 
us ;  picture  followed  upon  picture :  here  an  old  cloister,  there 
a  great  ruined  castle.  I  remarked  the  gigantic  aloes  by  the 
road,  and  upon  the  hill-sides  windmill  after  windmill.  We 
saw  the  cloister  Brancanas,  our  villa  Bonegos,  St.  Luis,  and 
Palmella. 

After  rowing  for  an  hour  we  approached  a  bend  of  the  coast, 
where  upon  a  rock,  highly  picturesque,  out  toward  the  ocean, 
stands  a  castle  with  a  small  military  garrison,  which  defends 
the  entrance  to  Setubal.  The  breakers  dashed  against  the 
rocks  and  the  low  walls ;  we  were  obliged  to  keep  off ;  the  boat 
turned,  and  beyond  us  and  around  us  lay  the  great,  open 
world's  sea.  How  calm  in  its  expanse,  and  yet  what  breakers 
against  the  coast,  and  away  over  the  many  sand-banks !  We 
steered  between  these  toward  the  serious  front  of  Monte  Ar- 
rabida.  Long  waves,  glistening  white,  lifted  us,  then  plun^d 
us  half-way  back  again,  before  we  could  reach  the  dark  rock- 
bound  coast.  The  air  was  clear  and  transparent ;  we  could  see 
plainly  on  the  mountain  side  the  decayed  Trappist  cloister, 
once  holy  and  revered,  always  solitary,  always  uncomfortable 
to  reach.  Visitors  rather  choose  to  go  by  sea,  for  on  the 
land  it  is  only  the  sure-footed  pedestrian  or  the  careful  mule 
that  can  find  a  track  and  foothold.  The  cloister,  in  its 
abandonment  and  solitude,  is  well  worth  an  uncomfortable 
journey,  and  yet  it  is  visited  only  by  an  occasional  stranger. 
More  remarkable  than  the  cloister  itself  is  the  vast  stalactite 
cavern  beneath  the  clear  waters ;  its  grandeur  is  beyond  de- 
scription. 

Upon  these  rocks  a  ship  stranded,  which   had  on  board  a 


BURIED   CITY.  267 

painting  of  the  Mother  of  God  ;  when  the  ship  struck,  the 
Virgin  raised  herself  from  the  canvas,  floated  above,  and  gave 
a  saving  light  from  the  rock,  and  there  was  the  cloister  built 
and  the  picture  to  be  seen.  Under  the  cloister  itself,  up  from 
the  deep  rolling  sea,  rises  the  monstrous  cave,  a  whole  moun- 
tain rock  church,  with  fantastic  dome,  down-tending  organ 
pipes,  columns,  and  altars  ;  away  to  this,  in  his  boat,  glided 
the  fisherman,  in  the  days  of  the  cloister,  as  he  returned  home 
fiom  his  fishing ;  he  laid  there  as  an  offering  a  part  of  his 
haul,  read  quietly  his  prayer,  and  let  his  boat  glide  softly  out 
from  the  halls  of  this  silent  church,  where  a  lamp  was  always 
burning.  We  were  within  one  and  a  half  English  miles  of  the 
grotto  ;  all  the  outlines  of  the  mountain  could  be  seen  dis- 
tinctly, but  the  sea  rolled  more  heavily  over  the  sand-banks  ; 
the  tide  was  rising ;  I  was  obliged  to  return,  give  up  my  desire 
to  glide  into  the  strange  cavern,  and  climb  to  the  lonely  clois- 
ter, where  the  sea-birds  clustered,  and  where  the  game  is  not 
startled  by  the  hunter. 

We  turned  back,  but  not  homeward,  steering  toward  the 
isthmus  to  see  the  remains  of  the  sand  buried  city,  Troja. 
The  Phoenicians  had  founded  it ;  since  that  the  Romans  had 
lived  here  and  gathered  the  salt  in  the  same  manner  that  it  is 
yet  gathered,  as  the  great  remains  bear  witness.  In  the  olden 
times  the  sea's  entrance  must  have  opened  to  the  eastward  ; 
the  present  entrance  has  become  broken  by  a  great  inunda- 
tion, which  blocked  it  with  sand.  All  the  inhabitants  were 
obliged  to  flee  ;  it  is  believed  that  they  at  first  sought  the 
mountains  and  founded  the  present  Palmella,  but  later  had 
moved  down  to  the  shore,  and  there  founded  Setubal,  as  it 
now  exists. 

Over  an  hour  passed  before  we  reached  the  sand  reeds  ;  these 
grow  with  bushes,  thistles,  and  blossoms  worthy  a  place  in 
our  hot-houses.  Where  we  stepped  on  land,  there  were  great 
piled  up  heaps  of  stone,  the  remains  of  ballast  from  ships, 
which  had  taken  from  the  bay  their  cargoes  of  salt.  Thus  large 
and  small  stones  lay  here  from  all  the  countries  of  the  globe, — 
from  Denmark  and  Sweden,  from  Russia  as  well  as  from  China. 
There  could  have  been  written  a  long  history  about  them.  The 
wind  rose,  but  gave  no  coolness  in  the  burning  sunshine  that 


268  IN  PORTUGAL. 

poured  down  here  between  the  canes.  A  large  digging  had 
been  commenced,  but  stopped  for  lack  of  means.  The  gain 
had  not  been  great, — yet  one  saw  foundations  of  houses, 
several  yards,  high  walls,  remains  of  an  entire  garden  ;  in  this 
was  a  partially  preserved  bath-room,  the  floor  of  mosaic,  the 
walls  with  marble  plates.  Quite  out  in  the  water  lay  fragments 
and  pieces  of  antique  jars,  and  large  wall  stones  also  were  to 
be  found. 

We  spent  an  hour  in  this  deserted  place  ;  not  a  dwelling  was 
to  be  seen  ;  the  sand-banks  stretched  out  into  the  open  sea. 
On  the  home  course  we  had  a  high  sea ;  over  an  hour  elapsed 
before  we  had  crossed  the  bay  to  Setubal ;  at  the  landing-place 
were  several  boats  loaded  with  rock  salt,  as  if  it  were  masses 
of  ice  brought  there  for  summer  keeping. 

The  carriage  awaited  us,  the  newspapers  also :  these  espe- 
cially we  grasped,  to  see  how  it  went  with  the  world.  Beau- 
tiful, unhappy  Spain,  how  fared  it  there  ?  Germany  had  its 
own  scene  of  war  ;  the  railroads  there  were  torn  up,  the  con- 
flict began  ;  but  while  blood  flowed,  and  the  death  sigh  was 
heard,  peace  reigned  serenely  over  the  remote,  separated  Por- 
tugal. I  recognized  and  enjoyed  this  beautiful  tranquillity. 

The  evening  was  lovely,  so  still,  so  dream-inviting  ;  the  stars 
twinkled,  flambeaux  shone  in  the  large  fruit  gardens,  and  the 
young  danced.  I  visited  with  a  couple  of  young  friends  a 
dancing  place,  and  when,  later  in  the  evening,  I  returned  home 
alone  under  the  pomegranate  bushes,  the  whole  picture  sunk 
into  my  soul,  forever  to  remain. 

On  one  of  my  first  days  here,  I  planted  in  front  of  our  villa, 
near  the  great  palm,  a  little  northern  "  naaletrse."  1^  will 
grow  ;  the  north-wind  breathes  therein  its  salutation  to  the 
south. 

I  must  soon  leave.  Already  had  I  spent  a  month  in  Setubal ; 
this,  with  the  five  weeks  on  "  Pinieros,"  was  more  than  one 
half  of  the  time  that  I  had  decided  to  remain  in  Portugal ;  if  I 
should  visit  Coimbra  and  Cintra  before  my  departure,  then  I 
must  either  start  now  or  decide  to  remain  through  the  winter. 

For  an  instant  the  home  journey  presented  itself  disagreea- 
bly ;  I  must  either  return  with  the  diligence  through  the  sum- 
mer heat  and  the  unquiet  country,  or  take  passage  in  the 


EVENING  MOODS.  269 

steamer  from  Lisbon  to  Bordeaux.  How  would  the  journey 
shape  itself?  What  dimensions  would  the  war  in  Germany 
assume  ?  Would  France  enter  into  the  struggle  ?  Should  I 
be  forced  to  try  the  whole  sea-way  from  France  to  England, 
up  to  Norway,  then  to  Denmark  ?  For  a  moment  I  had  half 
a  mind  to  stay  in  Portugal,  and  see  the  times  through  ;  then 
the  old  saying  occurred  to  me  :  "  The  welcome  guest  becomes 
tiresome,  when  he  sits  too  long  in  the  strange  house."  I  had 
never  proved  this  for  myself,  and  the  truth  thereof  would  surely 
not  affirm  itself  here,  but  the  saying  remained  in  my  thought. 
I  deliberated  a  long  time  over  the  annoyances  of  the  sea 
voyage,  and  upon  all  that  could  befall  us  upon  land,  in  the 
midst  of  war  •  my  double  nature  —  fearful  of  danger,  and  yet 
anxious  to  prove  it  —  asserted  itself  strongly,  and  then,  as 
always,  the  will  killed  the  fear.  I  took  the  resolution  to  leave 
Portugal  in  the  middle  of  August,  and  thus  in  the  few  weeks 
remaining  thoroughly  to  explore  this  beautiful  country. 

It  was  with  no  light  heart  that  I  said  farewell  to  the  friends 
in  "  Dos  Bonegos,"  —  these  charming  people,  this  fine  home, 
this  beautiful  nature.  The  last  evening,  I  went  into  Brancanas' 
cloister  garden  ;  here  was  stillness,  loneliness,  and  a  refreshing 
fragrance  from  trees  and  shrubs ;  the  stars  twinkled,  my  mind 
was  heavy,  my  heart  full  of  melancholy,  my  mood  became 
song. 

In  the  early  morning,  Carlos  O'Neill  and  his  son  ac- 
companied me  upon  the  railroad  and  steamer  to  Lisbon  :  in  the 
evening  I  was  in  "  Pinieros."  From  the  garden  wall  I  saw  in 
the  horizon  toward  the  south  in  shadowy  outlines,  Palmella, 
St.  Luis,  and  the  whole  extent  of  Monte  Arrabida,  now  a 
home  scene  for  me,  known  and  beloved.  Far  out  shone  the 
lanterns,  from  a  great  illumination  ;  the  rumbling  of  carriages, 
the  noise  and  shouts  resounded  out  here  through  the  stillness. 
I  looked  toward  the  city,  and  across  the  great  aqueduct  over 
the  Alcantara  Valley ;  soon  should  I  bid  it  all  farewell.  All 
floats  away,  changes,  and  fades. 

On  "  Pinieros "  nature  had  wholly  changed  itself  in  the 
month  I  had  been  absent.  "The  grass  was  sere,  the  flowers  of 
the  garden  withered  and  gone  ;  the  passion  branches  bore 


270 


IN  PORTUGAL. 


large  seed  apples,  like  green  and  orange  eggs,  among  the  dark 
foliage.  Beyond,  upon  the  ground,  lay  the  grain  gathered  and 
stored  in  the  place  prepared  ;  it  was  not  threshed,  but  tramped 
by  oxen.  The  whole  country  presented  but  the  naked  ground  j 
only  the  cypresses,  the  figs,  and  the  olives  gave  variety. 


CHAPTER  V. 

Visit  to  Aveiro  and  Coimbra.  —  Cintra's  Beauty.  —  Farewell  to  "  Pinieros." 

I  WAS  to  see  the  university  building  in  Coimbra,  and,  be- 
sides, the  city  of  Aveiro  lying  a  little  further  northward. 
George  O'Neill  had  some  business  affairs  there,  his  brother 
Josd  also  desired  to  go  with  us  :  we  used  the  railroad  to  Oporto. 

With  good  spirits  and  charming  weather  we  set  out,  along 
the  Tejo  River,  which  at  Lisbon  broadens  into  a  sea  extending 
to  Salvaterra  and  Benavente,  but  then  becomes  more  and 
more  narrow  with  large  sand-banks,  which  make  the  navigation 
difficult ;  it  turns  all  at  once  toward  Estrella,  the  mountains 
which  form  the  frontier  of  Spain  ;  the  snow  yet  lay  upon  them. 

We  passed  through  several  cork-forests  :  the  nearest  trees 
stood  stripped  of  their  bark ;  the  fresh  green  rice-fields  re- 
minded us  of  our  fields  of  grain  in  the  early  spring.  Forest 
glades,  lonely  ruins,  groups  of  people,  gave  the  landscape 
variety.  Yonder,  under  the  shade  of  a  picturesque  olive,  sat 
a  swine-herd  with  his  flock,  an  excellent  illustration  of  the 
Scripture  parable.  He  sat  and  ate  his  bread  and  cheese, 
drank  water  with  it  instead  of  wine,  —  so  easily  content  is  the 
Portuguese  peasant. 

Through  forest  and  thick  woods,  by  the  railroad  from  Lisbon, 
we  reached  the  beautifully  situated  Coimbra,  where  one  high 
house  lifts  itself  above  another,  surrounded  by  gardens  and 
woods,  close  by  the  broad  Mondego  River.  We  did  not  stop 
now ;  on  our  return  we  intended  to  acquaint  ourselves  with 
Portugal's  capital. 

A  little  north  from  Coimbra  the  woods  ceased  and  the 
country  became  flat.  In  Aveiro  one  finds  himself  in  a  Por- 
tuguese Holland,  swampy  and  flat  with  dug  canals,  but  Hol- 
land's luxuriance  and  freshness  is  wanting. 

In  old  times  the  country  was  fertile  and  good,  but  little  by 
little,  as  the  sand  choked  the  mouth  of  the  river  Vouga,  the 


272  //V  PORTUGAL. 

whole  stretch  of  land  for  miles  around  soon  became  changed 
into  swamp  and  morass,  thus  rendering  it  the  most  unhealthy 
part  of  the  country.  In  the  year  1801  a  canal  was  com- 
menced, which  was  completed  in  1808.  This  drained  off  the 
water ;  the  country  again  became  healthy  and  habitable.  The 
canal  was  continued  up  to  the  city,  which  is  divided  by  the 
river  Vouga  in  two  parts. 

The  flat  land,  the  many  tug-boats,  Aveiro  itself,  and  the 
sandy  shore  of  the  river,  recalled  our  western  coasts  in  the 
North  ;  the  gray  atmosphere,  and  thick  mists  which  enveloped 
the  whole  landscape,  contributed  to  make  us  believe  ourselves 
up  in  the  North,  instead  of  in  the  warm,  sunny  Portugal. 
While  we  entered  the  mists  descended,  raw  and  humid. 

It  was  just  ebb-time  ;  we  saw  a  marshy  river  bottom,  but  no 
running  water  ;  the  long,  low  water-conduit  showed  us  its  wet 
walls.  The  many  women  we  met  and  passed  were  closely 
wrapped  up,  and  looked  half  frozen  in  their  large  cloaks  ;  yet, 
strange  to  say,  I  saw  here  the  first  beautiful  faces  I  had  seen  in 
Portugal  —  the  woman  beauty  thrown  out  by  the  dark  costume 
as  from  a  background.  Even  the  young  girls  wore  the  same 
heavy  coat  as  the  old  women  ;  it  hung  down  to  their  naked, 
dirty  feet.  The  hat  was  of  black  felt  with  a  very  broad  brim  ; 
upon  this  head-piece  they  placed  the  large  basket  wherein 
they  deposited  the  traveller's  trunk  and  valise,  which  they  thus 
carried  to  the  hotel.  In  spite  of  the  heavy  burden,  they  were 
merry,  and  chattered  with  both  mouth  and  eyes. 

The  city  Aveiro  with  its  surroundings  once  belonged  to  the 
Duke  Don  Joseph  Mascarenhas,  who  under  Joseph  Emanuel 
was  regarded  as  the  head  of  a  party  of  leading  Jesuits,  of 
malcontents,  and  was  at  the  same  time  with  the  Marquis  Tavora 
convicted  of  a  murderous  attempt  upon  the  king.  Subse- 
quently, this  judgment  was  deemed  too  hasty ;  six  of  those 
declared  guilty  having  been  pronounced  innocent.  It  was  in 
that  beautiful  romantic  age,  as  we  call  it,  in  contrast  with  our 
present  times,  that  the  Duke  of  Aveiro  was  brought  with  the 
rope  around  his  neck  to  the  place  of  execution,  placed  upon 
the  rack,  and  while  yet  alive  tied  to  the  stake.  This  dark 
historical  event  was  the  only  one  brought  to  remembrance  in 
A  veiro. 


AVEIRO  AND   COIMBRA.  2/3 

The  city  has  been  called  the  Portuguese  Venice ;  but  noth 
ing  here,  save  the  gondola-shaped  tug-boat,  reminds  one  of  the 
city  of  the  Adriatic. 

With  my  fellow-travellers  I  trotted  about  in  the  narrow,  gay 
little  street.  The  appearance  of  any  strangers  was  quite  an  oc- 
currence, arousing  the  attention  of  the  youngest,  and  they  stared 
from  doors  and  balconies  after  us  three  foreigners.  The  town 
itself  presented  nothing  extraordinary  ;  the  guide  mentioned, 
however,  as  a  curiosity,  the  place  of  Archbishop  Bolig,  and 
brought  us  there  to  a  sort  of  public  garden,  from  which  at 
our  visit  next  day,  while  the  sun  forced  its  ray  through  the 
fog,  we  could  perceive  the  ships  out  by  the  river's  mouth. 

It  was  not  pleasant  to  be  in  Aveiro  !  Fortunately  O'Neill's 
business  was  soon  brought  to  a  close,  and  after  a  fortnight  we 
left  the  tiresome  place  for  the  charmingly  located  Coimbra, 
Portugal's  university  town.  A  cold,  damp  fog  yet  rested  over 
the  country,  but  as  we  left  the  lowlands  and  passed  by  hills 
and  forest,  the  sun  began  to  show  itself;  at  the  station  of 
Coimbra  it  shone  with  southern  fervor,  and  the  same  warmth 
revealed  itself  in  the  people  themselves.  Here  was  an 
activity,  a  stir,  a  confusion,  equal  to  that  in  a  Neapolitan  town. 
The  hack  drivers  precipitated  themselves  upon  us  and  our 
things,  to  fight  over  a  trunk  :  each  would  have  it  upon  his 
carriage  ;  he  neither  heard  nor  regarded  the  owner's  protesta- 
tions ;  they  pulled  and  tore  our  baggage ;  one  ran  with  one 
piece,  another  with  another ;  it  was  like  a  robbery ;  nothing 
was  wanting  but  the  glittering  knife.  It  was  a  drawn  battle 
before  we  succeeded  in  entering  a  carriage  together  ;  several 
passengers  sat  here  already ;  there  was  small  space  left ;  we 
sat  all  knotted  up  and  squeezed  together  as  in  a  Spanish  dili- 
gence, and  in  the  midst  of  yells  and  cries  we  drove  forth  along 
the  Mondego  River,  whose  broad  bed  displayed  more  dry  sand 
than  running  water.  Yet  what  freshness  and  forest  charm  all 
around  !  The  city  rose  as  the  loveliest  flower  in  the  whole 
bouquet.  Coimbra  rests  upon  the  mountain  side,  one  street 
higher  than  the  other.  Several  houses  projected  with  three, 
even  four  stories,  one  above  the  other.  The  streets  are  narrow, 
crooked,  and  rise  continually.  High  stone  steps  lead  through 
homely  buildings  from  one  lane  up  and  out  into  another 
18 


274  IN  PORTUGAL. 

Shops  and  bookstores  are  here  in  abundance.  One  meets 
students  everywhere  :  now  one  alone,  bareheaded,  reading  from 
a  book ;  now  several  arm  in  arm.  Their  dress  is  picturesque, 
reminding  us  of  Faust  and  Theophrastus.  The  dress  consists 
of  a  long  black  "  Taker,"  and  a  short  mantle  of  the  same 
color.  They  went  bareheaded  for  the  most  part,  through  the 
streets,  and  along  the  bank  of  the  river.  The  cap  they  other- 
wise wear  is  large  and  heavy  —  a  sort  of  drooping  Polish  cap. 
I  was  told  that  in  the  winter  season  the  students  gave  once 
a  month  a  dramatic  entertainment,  to  which  they  invited  pro- 
fessors and  citizens,  with  their  wives  and  daughters.  In  the 
streets  sounds  frequently  the  guitar,  and  the  song  in  serenade  ; 
with  the  guitar  or  the  gun  over  the  shoulder  bounds  the  gay 
youth  away,  upon  his  hired  horse,  out  of  the  old  city,  into  the 
fresh  woods,  or  on  the  mountains,  to  life's  joy  and  adventure, 
to  treasure  in  the  young  heart  remembrances  for  coming  old 
days.  Peaceful  and  free  seems  life  in  this  paradise  of  nature. 
I  was  told,  however,  that  in  Don  Miguel's  time  some  of 
Coimbra's  students  rebelled  a  little,  and  he  immediately  ordered 
a  couple  to  be  hung  on  the  gallows ;  it  was  not  at  that  time 
anything  remarkable. 

The  cloister  Santa  Cruz,  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city,  is  well 
worth  visiting ;  it  is  not  occupied,  it  is  desolate  and  lonely,  but 
the  cloister  walks  around  the  little  garden  are  very  romantic, 
and  have  light  carved  arches  worthy  of  admiration.  In  the 
church,  on  each  side  of  the  high  altar,  two  magnificent  monu- 
ments are  raised,  with  the  likeness  of  the  dead  sculptured  in 
marble.  Here  repose  the  kings  Sancho  the  First,  and  Al- 
phonse  Henriques  ;  there  is  also  kept  here  a  portrait  painted 
of  Gran  Vasco,  with  a  sketch  and  coloring  very  different  from 
the  paintings  I  had  seen  of  him  in  Setubal. 

From  the  cloister  and  the  church  the  streets  ascend  toward 
the  university,  —  an  extensive  building  which  occupies  the  high- 
est site  in  the  city.  Up  here,  through  one  of  the  city  gates  in 
the  dilapidated  walls  of  the  fortress,  one  enters  the  botanical 
garden,  which  is  rich  in  rare  flowers  and  trees.  Large  palms 
and  blooming  magnolias  were  displayed  among  the  abundant 
leaves  and  "  naaletrass  ;  "  here,  however,  not  a  person  was  to 
be  seen,  and  almost  equally  lonely  was  the  pleasant  walk  froro 


1OIMBRA. 


275 


the  garden,  along  the  old  walls  of  the  city ;  rich  grass  and 
fresh  climbing  plants  grew  all  about,  and  to  the  right  in  the 
garden  were  orange-trees,  large  cypresses,  and  cork-tree^. 
I  met  some  students,  all  in  their  Mediaeval  garb  :  one  went 
by  himself,  reading;  three  others  passed  in  lively  conversation, 
with  the  guitar  strung  over  the  shoulder ;  their  wild  pranks  in 
these  surroundings  put  me  in  cheerful  mood  ;  it  was  as  if  I 
lived  back  in  an  earlier  century ;  a  whole  poem  upon  this  oc- 
casion strung  itself  in  my  thought,  but  the  burden  of  it  came 
not  upon  the  paper.  The  road  brought  me  to  the  river,  where, 
midway  out,  two  jagged  trees  served  for  boat-houses.  Women 
with  skirts  tucked  up  waded  over,  to  save  going  by  the  longer, 
more  roundabout  way  toward  the  old  many-arched  bridge 
which  leads  from  the  city  toward  the  nunnery,  Santa  Clara, 
upon  the  other  shore,  —  an  enormous  building  close  by,  "  La 
Quinta  dos  Lagrimas."  In  the  garden  there  still  remains,  half 
in  ruins,  the  castle  where  the  beautiful,  unhappy  Inez  de  Castro, 
with  her  innocent  children,  were  murdered.  It  is  widely 
known  that  the  Portuguese  "  Infant,"  Don  Pedro,  married 
,  the  beautiful  Inez,  who  also  was  of  royal  blood.  The  marriage 
was,  however,  secret ;  Don  Pedro  dared  not  acknowledge  it  for 
fear  of  his  relentless  father ;  and  when  his  father  was  informed 
of  what  had  happened,  he  forced  him  to  marry  another,  and  in 
the  mean  time  caused  Inez  and  her  children  to  be  murdered. 
It  occurred  in  this  building  in  the  garden.  The  father  died 
soon  after,  and  that  allowed  Don  Pedro,  who  then  was  king,  to 
have  the  corpse  of  the  beloved  one  taken  from  the  coffin, 
clothed  in  royal  magnificence  and  laid  out  on  the  throne, 
where  the  whole  court  were  compelled  to  kneel  and  kiss  the 
dead  one's  hand. 

In  "  Quinta  dos  Lagrimas,"  as  the  garden  surrounding  the 
building  is  called,  where  she  was  murdered,  gushes  the  foun- 
tain where  Inez  and  Don  Pedro  so  often  sat  under  the  tall 
cypresses ;  these  still  cast  their  shadows  there,  except  one 
tree,  on  which  was  written  :  "  En  dig  ombra  a  Inez  formosa." 
The  tree  fell  in  a  storm,  the  fountain  itself  will  one  day  cease 
to  murmur,  but  the  verses  about  Inez  in  Camoen's  "  Lusiad  " 
will  never  die.  They  stand  engraven  on  a  marble  tablet  by 
the  yet  living  fountain,  and  say,  but  in  sounding  words  and 


276  IN  PORTUGAL, 

melodious  rhythm,  that  which  we  have  not  power  to  render : 
"  Mondego's  daughter  wept  long,  remembering  the  tears  which 
here  were  shed  ;  they  flowed  into  the  clear  spring  of  the  foun- 
tain, and  gave  the  spring  a  name  which  yet  remains  :  '  Love's 
felicity.'  She  found  it  here.  Seest  thou  how  fresh  the  spring 
bubbles  where  it  bedews  the  flowers  ?  The  spring  is  tears, 
and  its  name  is  love's  felicity." 

Already,  upon  the  afternoon  of  my  arrival,  I  received  a  visit 
from  the  professor  of  literature,  a  born  Slesvigian,  of  whom 
I  heard  that  one  of  my  stories,  "  The  World's  most  beautiful 
Rose,"  was  translated  into  Portuguese ;  and  that  he  with  a 
young  scientific  man  in  Coimbra  had  thought  of  translating 
many,  not  only  of  my  writings,  but  of  Ingemann's  historical 
novels,  as  he  felt  assured  that  the  Danish  literature  contained 
something  which  might  speak  to  the  people  of  Portugal. 
Through  him  I  was  the  next  morning  brought  to  the  festivities 
in  the  university,  where  a  young  man  received  the  "  Doctor's 
cap."  The  hall  was  filled  with  people,  for  the  most  part 
students.  On  each  side  of  the  hall  sat  the  different  Faculties, 
in  their  different  colors,  white  and  blue,  red  and  yellow.  The 
young  doctor  was  kneeling  upon  an  elevation  near  the  royal 
throne.  The  balconies  were  filled  with  ladies,  from  the  ante- 
rooms quite  into  the  hall.  The  orchestra  was  placed  on  the 
floor  near  the  entrance.  I  was  invited  to  be  present  at  the 
feast,  and  received  all  possible  attention.  I  saw  the  magnificent 
chapel,  the  throne-hall,  and  the  library,  which  is  built  in 
"  rococo-style,"  decorated  with  bold  arches,  gildings,  and 
frescoed  ceilings.  The  librarian  took  out  several  different 
editions  of  the  "  Lusiad  "  illustrated  with  good  engravings. 
I  saw  two  written  Bibles,  in  which,  upon  some  pages  seemed 
nothing  but  carefully  traced  and  meaningless  characters,  but 
seen  through  a  microscope,  every  page  was  a  little  master- 
piece of  art  and  perseverance  ;  it  revealed,  in  the  vague  signs, 
written  words  in  Hebrew  text,  executed  with  an  astonishing 
application  and  patience.  This  whole  forenoon  it  was  a  pour- 
ing rain,  something  unusual  here  at  this  season.  They  said 
to  me  jokingly  that  it  was  I  who  had  brought  a  northern  sum- 
mer down  to  them.  Yes,  surely,  what  weather  !  The  people 
kept  within  doors,  the  streets  were  like  running  rivers,  roads 


COIMBRA. 

and  paths  were  under  water.  Thus  it  continued,  when  I,  under 
my  umbrella,  hopping  from  stone  to  stone,  stepped  down  from 
the  university,  and  looked  out  over  the  river  which  now  got 
fresh  water.  The  rain  whipped  sharply  with  water  lashes ;  it 
fell  as  a  veil  over  the  gardens  and  the  forest  magnificence. 
The  black  cypresses  by  the  "  love  fountain  "  in  the  garden  of 
tears,  as  Camoens  and  the  people  called  the  "  Quinta  "  where 
Inez  was  murdered,  stood  like  veiled  marshals  before  the 
sarcophagus  of  the  past. 

Coimbra  is  a  place  where  one  must  stay,  not  only  a  few  days 
but  several  weeks,  live  together  with  the  students,  be  out  in 
the  free,  charming  nature,  abandon  one's  self  to  solitude,  and 
allow  the  recollection  to  call  up  images  through  tradition  and 
song  from  its  past  history. 

*  O'Neill  wanted  to  return  to  Lisbon ;  the  railway  signal 
sounded,  the  locomotive  puffed,  away  it  went  over  Mondego 
River  ;  yet  a  glance  over  Coimbra,  which  with  its  many  colored 
houses  resembled  a  large  bouquet  upon  the  green  hill-side. 
The  rain  began  to  subside  ;  the  wet  weather,  however,  procured 
me  the  sight  of  an  original  costume  peculiar  to  these  people  r 
it  consists  of  rain  cloaks  of  straw,  of  yellow  or  white,  a  sort  of 
straw  coat  with  long  skirts,  worn  by  the  country  people.  When 
we  came  through  the  cork  forests  the  rain  was  over,  the  sun 
shone  red  as  blood  between  the  tall  trunks  of  the  trees  ;  it  be- 
came at  once  evening,  the  stars  peeped  forth  one  by  one,  the 
wind  was  fresh,  almost  cool.  We  reached  Lisbon  ;  the  lights 
shone,  the  stores  were  resplendent,  the  people  sought  the 
theatre  Maria  Secunda  on  the  handsome  large  square.  We 
passed  by  the  public  garden.  Gas  jets  glittered  between  the 
fragrant  trees,  the  music  sounded,  and  soon  we  had  passed  the 
city's  gate  and  were  out  at  Pinieros,  where  dinner  had  been 
kept  for  us.  A  night  or  two's  rest,  and  then  off  again  to  a 
new  country,  Cintra  of  the  poet's  song. 

The  railroad  traced  upon  the  map  between  Lisbon  and 
Cintra  is  not  yet  in  condition  for  travel ;  a  couple  of  depots 
were  built,  but  the  railroad  itself  postponed,  —  yes,  if  I  have 
understood  aright,  altogether  abandoned.  One  going  to 
Lisbon  must  either  take  the  omnibus  that  plies  thither,  or 
procure  for  himself  a  carriage,  horse,  or  donkey. 


278  IN  PORTUGAL. 

The  most  charming  and  most  celebrated  part  of  Portugal  is 
undoubtedly  Cintra.  "  The  new  paradise,"  it  is  called,  after 
Byron.  "  Here  the  spring  has  its  throne,"  sings  the  Portuguese 
poet,  Garret.  There  went  we. 

In  the  old  castle  within  the  city,  the  reigning  King  Don 
Luis  spends  a  part  of  the  summer.  His  father,  Don  Fernando, 
lives  on  "  Penha,"  the  mountain  castle  in  the  sky  region. 
Diplomats  and  a  portion  of  Portugal's  wealthy  men  have  their 
villas  in  the  fresh,  charming  country ;  the  hotels  are  filled  up 
with  travellers,  partly  foreigners  and  partly  natives.  In  the 
early  morning  I  left  "  Pinieros,"  and  took  the  road  that  winds 
through  the  suburbs  of  Lisbon,  out  upon  the  open  country, 
through  the  arches  of  the  aqueduct,  now  on  the  heights,  now 
in  the  valley. 

The  vegetation  was  dry  and  withered,  but  a  lonely  cactus 
still  showed  life.  In  the  first  country  town  we  met  a  wander- 
ing musician  with  his  young  wife.  He  accompanied  on  the 
violin  her  improvised  song ;  a  young  boy  beat  the  tambourine. 
In  flowing  verse  she  sang  to  the  tavern's  signora  about  this 
one's  red  skirt  and  yellow  neckerchief.  The  song  flowed  as  a 
fountain,  the  words  streamed  forth  in  a  continuous  string ;  it 
was  surely  an  old  song,  in  which  she  now  with  a  sort  of  skill 
wove  in  other  words  than  before,  and  applied  them  to  the 
signora  before  her. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  town  we  saw  at  some  distance  a 
large  park  with  places  of  amusement.  Don  Miguel,  who  loved 
the  chase,  had  preferred  this  place  to  the  enchanting  "  Cintra." 
Yet  nothing  showed  itself  but  bare  ground  ;  not  a  picturesque 
spot,  no  bush,  no  tree  ;  but  one  poor  peasant  house  displayed 
a  blooming  magnolia,  whose  dark  green  leaves  shone  in  the 
sunshine. 

A  light  mist  yet  concealed  luxuriant  Cintra,  although  near 
at  hand,  but  we  soon  had  the  first  glimpse  of  it  —  a  garden 
with  great  trees  ;  here  stood  an  imposing  structure ;  it  had 
been,  not  long  since,  a  royal  cloister,  but  now  belonged  to  a 
private  individual  who  had  bought  it  for  an  insignificant  sum. 
Through  the  grated  entrance  one  looked  in  over  flowers  and 
shrubbery,  at  running  water  and  large  pendant  branches. 

Santa  Maria,  a  little  town  by  itself,  lies  above  Cintra,  be- 
tween rocks  and  foliage ;  on  its  outskirts,  under  tall  trees, 


CINTRA'S  BEAUTY.  2f<) 

Jose  O'Neill  had  his  country-place,  now  my  new  home.  A 
large  garden  terrace,  hung  with  glass  bells,  fronted  the  high- 
road, which  passed  close  by  between  the  villa  and  a  neighbor's 
empty  house.  The  owner  died  before  it  was  finished  ;  the 
half  completed  side  without  windows  faced  us,  and  had  by 
moonlight  especially  a  ghostly  aspect.  In  the  back-building 
with  its  view  over  the  abyss,  embracing  Cintra  and  the  coun- 
try about,  lived  some  people,  but  we  did  not  see  them.  Our 
house,  with  its  many  rooms  and  halls  against  the  rocks  where  a 
spring  bubbled,  had  its  own  garden  over-stocked  with  citrons 
and  figs,  but  so  small  was  it  that  a  tethered  hen  had  dominion 
over  it.  From  the  rocks  grown  with  trees  one  saw,  through 
interrupted  vistas,  King  Fernando's  castle,  in  style  half  Moor- 
ish, half  Italian.  The  main  garden  belonging  to  O'Neill  was 
at  a  little  distance  from  the  villa,  in  the  deep  valley  on  the  other 
side  of  the  high-road.  Down  there  one  found  cool,  fresh  shad- 
ows and  solitude.  It  was  as  if  I  entered  into  a  Danish  wil- 
derness. I  could  but  think  upon  the  heights  at  Silkeborg  ; 
I  bent  under  heavy  foliage  resembling  birch  and  pine.  The 
water  rippled  cool  and  clear  in  the  rich  grass  where  bloomed 
the  forgot-me-not.  I  saw  the  Danish  white  clover,  the  bloom- 
ing elder,  and  the  convolvulus.  "  Here  am  I  in  thy  charming 
Denmark,"  said  Josd,  and  expressed  warmly  his  love  for  that 
country,  in  which  he  had  passed  his  early  youth.  It  is  said 
that  each  nation  finds  in  Cintra  a  portion  of  its  father-land :  I 
found  Denmark  here ;  I  imagined  that  I  discovered  many 
cherished  spots  from  other  beautiful  countries ;  the  green 
swards  of  Kent,  the  Brocken's  wildly  tossed  stone-blocks.  I 
could  here  believe  myself  by  the  shore  of  Geneva,  and  in 
Leksand's  birch  forest.  All  was  wonderfully  rich  and  varied. 
Here  stood  the  bayberry-tree  with  its  dark  red  fruit ;  here  ge 
raniums  spread  themselves  into  large  bushes,  and  fuchsias 
grew  like  trees.  From  the  chestnuts  and  the  banana  hung 
vines  in  a  profusion  which  must  remind  the  South  American 
of  his  native  forests. 

Right  above  the  garden,  one  looked  from  the  road  over 
Cintra,  whose  old  castle  has  the  appearance  of  a  cloister 
with  small  patched  buildings,  and  many  small  garden  terraces, 
each  with  its  fountain  ;  the  steeple-like  chimneys,  not  unlike 
champagne  bottles,  predominate  in  the  buildings,  which  are 


280  IN  PORTUGAL. 

without  beauty.  How  beautiful  in  comparison  appears  Don 
Fernando's  summer  castle.  Upon  this  site  a  great  wood  ex- 
tended formerly,  part  of  which  still  exists,  as  also  the  cele- 
brated cork  cloister,  —  a  little  building  whose  walls  are 
covered  with  the  bark  of  the  cork-tree ;  the  cloister  itself 
dated  from  the  time  of  Vasco  de  Gam  a. 

One  day  during  Vasco's  famous  expedition  the  king  pur- 
sued the  chase  up  here,  and  just  upon  the  spot  where  the 
cloister  now  stands  he  saw  Vasco's  flag ;  returning  in  great 
joy  he  promised  to  build  a  cloister  here,  and  kept  his  word. 
It  was  erected,  and  constitutes  the  finest  part  of  the  whole. 
When  it  was  afterward  abolished  and  the  monks  driven 
forth,  King  Fernando  bought  the  place  and  employed  con- 
siderable means  in  rebuilding  it,  and  laying  the  foundation 
for  a  park.  The  whole  ascent  is  like  a  garden  wherein  nature 
and  art  beautifully  sustain  each  other  ;  here  is  the  most  beau- 
tiful promenade  one  can  imagine.  It  begins  with  cactuses, 
"  plataners,"  and  magnolias,  and  ends  with  birch  and  pine 
among  wildly  scattered  rocks.  Geraniums  of  all  kinds  and 
colors  bloom  here  in  abundance ;  wonderfully  handsome  this- 
tles cluster  by  the  myrtle  bushes,  with  their  fragrant  snow- 
white  blossoms  ;  lonely  paths  wind  between  ivy-clad  walls  and 
rocks,  which  in  their  fall  have  formed  natural  arches.  One 
has  a  wide  view  from  this  height,  away  toward  Lisbon,  and 
the  mountains  on  the  other  side  of  Tejo  ;  one  sees  the  broad 
Atlantic,  and  from  the  valley  one  overlooks  the  large  plain 
away  to  the  cloister  Maffra.  The  air  was  so  transparent,  that 
I  thought  I  could  count  the  windows  in  the  building  several 
miles  distant.  The  open  highway  from  O'Neill's  house  cross- 
ing Cintra  for  a  mile  or  more,  invited  to  walking  ;  there  amid 
change  and  shadow  was  the  most  delightful  promenade,  and 
toward  evening  was  particularly  frequented.  I  took  it  often  my- 
self in  the  summer  noon :  the  sea-breeze  came  up  constantly ; 
the  trees  grew  as  tall  as  our  beech-trees  and  alders  ;  the  vines 
hung  in  rich  profusion  over  the  rocks  and  walls  ;  the  chest- 
nuts spread  their  mighty  branches  into  a  leafy  ceiling  ;  weeping- 
willows  bowed  themselves  over  the  dusty  road.  Near  Cintra 
there  is  a  villa  in  Moorish  style  belonging  to  a  rich  Brazilian ; 
he  had  it  built  just  at  the  time  that  people  were  reading 


CINTRA'S  BEAUTY.  28 1 

Dumas'  "  Monte  Christo,"  and  from  it  the  villa  has  taken  its 
name.  From  this  point  the  road  became  yet  narrower  under 
the  arches  of  the  chestnuts.  A  dashing  cascade  increased 
the  coolness ;  now  the  road  broadens  into  an  equally  shady 
spot  before  a  rococo  building  where  the  treaty  of  peace  under 
Abrantes  was  signed. 

One  has  continually  the  Penha  forest  to  the  left,  and  in 
the  cloud  heights  the  Moorish  castle,  bearing  its  large  four- 
cornered  tower  with  its  small  turrets.  There  it  was  beautiful 
as  an  Eden.  I  could  but  think  of  my  childhood,  when  I  stud- 
ied from  Baden's  Latin  Grammar :  "  Tempe,  a  delightful  valley 
in  Thessalia  "  Could  "  Tempe "  possibly  have  offered  any- 
thing more  beautiful  than  Cintra  ?  My  friend  Jose  enjoyed  sol- 
itude, remaining  by  preference  in  his  nice  quiet  home,  while  I 
was  happiest  when  roaming  about  alone.  I  was  not  wholly 
a  stranger  with  those  who  lived  there.  In  Cintra  resided  a 
countrywoman,  Viscountess  Boboredo,  the  daughter  of  Ad- 
miral Zahrtman  ;  she  had  just  arrived  at  Lisbon  by  the  last 
steamer  from  Bordeaux  under  the  mournful  circumstances  of 
Bringing  the  dead  body  of  her  husband  to  the  family  grave  in 
Portugal.  Through  her  I  was  introduced  in  several  high  aris- 
tocratic houses,  among  others  to  the  charming  Count  Almeida, 
who  resided  with  his  family  in  the  Palazzo  Pombal,  a  half 
Moorish  structure,  where  a  fountain  splashed  in  the  airy  din- 
ing-hall,  and  where  the  garden-terrace  under  the  vine-covered 
arches  seemed  like  a  magnificent  gallery.  Again,  in  Cintra, 
I  came  across  Marquis  Fronteira,  with  his  daughter  and  son- 
in-law.  His  mother  is  Danish  born.  I  met  a  friend  from 
Copenhagen,  the  son  of  the  poet,  Bulwer  Lytton,  who  for  a 
time  was  with  us  in  Denmark,  with  the  English  legation ;  he 
loved  me  for  my  writings,  —  was  himself  a  favored  poet  in  his 
father-land.  In  Denmark  I  made  this  amiable  young  writer's 
acquaintance ;  now  he  occupied  the  position  of  English  Am- 
bassador in  Lisbon,  was  married,  and  was  spending  the  sum- 
mer with  his  lovely  wife  and  their  little  child  in  the  Eden-like 
Cintra.  In  my  friend  Lytton's  house,  I  found  the  heartiest 
reception,  and  the  most  sympathizing  friends  ;  with  him  and 
his  lady  I  saw  a  part  of  Cintra's  unforgetful  charms. 

We  drove  one  afternoon  over  the  high-road  promenade, 
under  the  mighty  shadowy  trees,  past  Monte  Christo,  past  the 


282  IN  PORTUGAL, 

vice-king's  garden  where  Inez  de  Castro  is  buried,  out  to  Mon- 
serrat  which  is  owned  by  a  very  rich  Englishman,  who  oomes 
and  stays  there  during  two  spring  months.  In  the  garden 
grow  a  number  of  tropical  trees  and  plants.  I  saw  a  fern 
brake  comprising  all  remarkable  kinds,  from  the  simplest  to 
the  most  frilly  developed  in  size  and  strength,  standing  side  by 
side  with  the  palm-tree.  Large  white  bell-flowers  hang  from 
one  tree ;  pearl-shaped,  rose-colored  berries  from  another. 
Juicy  fruits,  new  to  me,  sun-filled  colored  flowers,  grew  here ; 
and  down  over  the  smooth  velvet  lawn  rippled  the  clear  spring 
water,  which  was  so  led  as  to  supply  the  grass  with  irrigation. 
Above  this  fresh  green,  the  castle  rose  in  Moorish  style,  a  fit 
subject  for  the  Arabian  Nights  or  a  romantic  fairy  picture. 
The  sun  sank  into  the  sea,  which  became  rose-colored  ;  the 
brightness  of  sea  and  sky  was  reflected  magically  upon  the 
marble  white  walls  and  decorations,  filling  with  light  the  large, 
mirror-clear  window  panes.  The  air  was  so  warm,  so  still,  so 
penetrated  with  the  perfume  of  flowers,  that  one  felt  carried 
away  from  reality,  fairly  entranced,  returning  to  one's  self 
only  when  entering  the  shadowy  cork  woods  near  by.  There 
we  met  and  saluted  the  royal  couple. 

The  weather  had  been  fine  throughout  my  stay  in  Cintra, 
but  toward  the  last  the  wind  blew  strong  from  the  northwest. 
The  sea,  a  whole  mile  distant,  which  yet  looked  much  nearer, 
resembled  an  outspread  blue  garment.  The  breakers  rolled 
like  a  line  of  white  smoke  along  the  coast ;  soon  should  we 
out  there,  far  from  the  beautiful  terra  firma,  try  the  rolling  sea. 

The  day  of  departure  came.  It  was  hard  to  part  from  the 
dear,  warm-hearted  Josd,  to  leave  Cintra's  delights.  In  flying 
speed  and  whistling  wind  we  went  again  to  Pinieros.  It 
stormed  all  night ;  I  thought  the  house  would  fall.  The  next 
day  was  equally  stormy,  but  the  sky  was  clear,  the  sun  shone 
warm  ;  "  It  is  glorious  weather  for  the  home  voyage,"  said 
George  O'Neill  ;  in  a  few  days  would  the  steamer  arrive  from 
Rio,  and  immediately  set  sail  for  Bordeaux.  A  few  hours,  per- 
haps half  a  day,  had  I  spent  in  Lisbon  ;  I  would  gladly  be 
there  a  little  longer  before  my  departure,  —  see  in  the  evening 
the  life  and  stir  which  moved  in  the  streets,  the  cafe's,  and  the 
theatre. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  few  Days  in  Lisbon.  —  On  the  Steamer  Navarro  from  Lisbon  to  Bor- 
deaux. 

O'NEILL  recommended  me  to  a  new  hotel  which  was 
just  opened,  located  near  his  office  and  the  harbor.  It 
was  a  friendly,  elderly  married  couple,  who  here  received  me. 
I  inquired  the  hour  for  the  "  table  d'hote."  "  As  soon  as  you 
command,"  answered  they.  I  was  yet  the  only  guest  in  the 
house ;  I  had,  if  I  chose,  the  freedom  of  all  the  rooms  and 
halls.  But  who  could  stir  ?  The  curtains  were  down,  the 
blinds  fastened,  that  the  warm  sunshine  should  not  enter  in. 
It  was  a  torture  to  go  outside  ;  one  crawled  forth  in  the  narrow 
shadow  of  the  house  ;  whether  I  tried  to  lie  on  the  bed  all 
day,  or  walk  about  in  the  half  dark  apartments,  where  I  did 
not  meet  a  single  acquaintance,  either  was  insupportable.  I 
therefore  turned  my  steps  toward  O'Neill's  office ;  here  I  found 
the  newspapers,  which  informed  me  how  it  went  elsewhere. 
I  arrived  there  prostrated  by  the  heat,  and  returned  in  the 
same  condition.  Only  toward  evening  I  began  to  feel  some 
degree  of  comfort ;  it  was  refreshing  to  step  out  on  the 
balcony,  and  feel  the  fresh  breeze,  which  blew  so  welcome 
into  the  eyes  and  mouth,  sending  new  life  into  one.  Then 
could  one  with  pleasure  come  out  on  the  street,  mix  with  the 
throng,  and  visit  the  places  of  resort.  The  next  day  was  as 
hot  as  the  preceding.  The  steamer  failed  to  arrive  at  the  time 
appointed,  and  instead  of  two  days  I  was  obliged  to  remain  five 
whole  days  in  the  heated  city.  Every  night  it  blew  strongly, 
the  wind  subsiding  at  last,  and  toward  the  early  morning  of  the 
sixth  day  I  was  awoke  by  a  knocking  on  my  door.  A  messen- 
ger from  the  house  of  Tolades  O'Neill  brought  a  written  notice 
of  the  steamer's  arrival  from  Rio  ;  she  was  to  leave  port  at 
noon  for  Bordeaux.  In  the  few  hours  left  to  me  here,  I  had 
scarce  time  to  see  the  friends  from  Pinieros  and  Setubal.  I 


284  IN  PORTUGAL. 

met  the  physician,  a  couple  of  the  ship's  officers,  and  some 
of  the  passengers,  in  O'Neill's  office  ;  some  splendid  Spanish 
wine  came  forth  for  salutation  and  farewell.  Upon  my  in- 
quiry if  the  sea  was  quiet,  the  captain  answered  that  it  no 
longer  blew,  but  that  the  sea  went  high  ;  it  had  stormed  for 
several  days  and  nights :  this  had  delayed  them  three  days 
over  their  time.  We  went  down  to  the  water ;  here  lay  the 
captain's  boat ;  we  all  took  our  places  ;  O'Neill  followed  me  ; 
the  strong  pull  of  the  oars  by  the  sailors  soon  brought  us  out 
into  Tejo  River,  where  the  steamer  Navarro  lay,  and  took 
goods  and  passengers  on  board.  The  boatswain's  whistle 
sounded,  the  sailors  with  halberds  stood  by  the  stair-way,  and 
I  was  soon  on  French  territory  on  board  the  large  ship.  It 
was  like  a  swimming  hotel.  From  the  deck  one  entered  a 
magnificent  saloon  with  broad  passage  and  tables  on  either 
side  ;  buffets,  book-cases,  an4  beautiful  paintings,  mostly  land- 
scapes, filled  the  spaces  between  the  broad  windows.  Outside, 
parallel  with  the  saloon,  extended  a  covered  gallery,  which  was 
lighted  in  the  evening ;  here  one  sat,  or  promenaded.  Beyond 
the  saloon,  toward  the  middle  of  the  vessel,  were  the  captain's 
and  officers'  quarters ;  then  the  kitchen  and  store-rooms,  all 
upon  the  deck  ;  then  followed  the  gigantic  machinery ;  pass- 
ing between  this  and  the  great  paddle-wheels,  one  gained  the 
"  second  class  "  accommodations,  then  the  "  third,"  then  the 
steerage,  filled  with  goods  and  passengers,  and  presenting  the 
most  nondescript  appearance :  monkeys  in  cages,  domestic 
animals  fastened  up,  parrots,  —  a  Noah's  Ark  from  South 
America.  Over  the  whole  vessel  extended  an  upper  deck, 
communicating  by  stairs  and  bridges.  I  learned  that  there 
were  about  five  hundred  passengers. 

After  the  breakfast  with  the  captain  followed  the  leave-tak- 
ings. George  O'Neill  spoke  and  smiled  ;  I  was  heavy-hearted  ; 
should  we  ever  meet  again  ?  Never  more  should  I  visit  this 
beautiful  distant  land,  where  I  had  felt  myself  well  and  at 
home.  From  the  guard,  I  saw  O'Neill  row  homeward,  heard 
his  cheerful  "  Live  well ! "  I  followed  the  boat  with  my  eyes ; 
soon  it  disappeared  among  the  anchored  ships ;  I  sought 
down  below  for  my  state-room,  the  furthest  back  in  the  ship. 
I  should  be  thoroughly  rocked  by  the  sea's  motion.  The  sig- 


FROM  LISBON  TO  BORDEAUX.  285 

nal  sounded,  we  weighed  anchor,  and  under  full  head  of 
steam  we  glided  out  upon  the  swelling  stream,  past  Lisbon's 
fine  sites,  by  the  palaces  and  barracks,  the  Moorish-like 
Belem,  and  were  soon  at  the  river's  mouth,  and  out  upon  the 
open  Atlantic.  The  vessel  heaved,  the  billows  rolled  larger 
and  larger,  up  toward  the  coast  dashed  the  strong  breakers  ; 
the  air  grew  colder,  we  steered  further  and  further  out.  In  the 
mean  time  the  saloon  had  been  converted  into  a  dining  hall ; 
there  were  so  many  passengers,  that  they  were  obliged  to  set 
two  tables.  I  had  already  seated  myself  at  the  very  last,  as 
near  the  entrance  as  possible,  for  I  knew  beforehand  that  I 
should  not  remain  very  long.  The  floor  seemed  to  lift  itself 
under  my  feet ;  through  the  windows  I  soon  saw  only  the  high 
clear  sky.  Then  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  we  plunged  deep  down 
into  the  billows,  and  these  rolled  over  us  like  huge  water- 
falls. It  was  some  time  before  the  first  dish  was  brought  me. 
I  saw  them  bringing  the  soup,  and  I  was  obliged  to  seek  the 
fresh  air,  and  sit  there  suffering,  doubly  suffering  at  the 
knowledge  that  it  would  be  a  yet  stronger  sea  the  further  we 
•  got  out,  and  that  it  was  not  one  night,  but  fully  three  nights 
and  four  days,  that  I  had  to  endure  it.  Yes,  and  this  might 
be  called  a  good  voyage  !  The  more  part  of  the  passengers 
had  already  been  twenty-one  days  and  nights  upon  the  sea ; 
for  them  it  was  but  a  short  trip  ahead  of  us,  but  perhaps  the 
most  disagreeable.  We  should  cross  the  Spanish  sea :  the 
wind  blew  ;  it  had  earlier  stormed,  always  from  the  northwest ; 
I  took  our  direction  over  the  large  rolling  waves,  and  knew 
that  the  nearest  coast  was  Greenland.  Cintra's  heights  and 
woods  were  yet  visible,  but  before  the  sun  set  the  outlines 
grew  fainter,  and  at  last  disappeared.  The  stars  came  forth, 
the  air  grew  cold  ;  however,  I  dared  not  go  down  in  the 
cabin,  but  sought  for  the  large  dining-hall,  to  spend  the  night 
there.  Here  was  yet  lively  conversation,  and  going  back  and 
forth  among  the  passengers  ;  as  night  grew  they  became  fewer 
and  fewer,  and  at  last  I  was  alone ;  it  was  midnight,  the  lights 
were  put  out ;  I  saw  one  shine  only,  from  the  open  door,  a 
great  lantern.  I  felt  the  rolling  seas,  heard  the  billows  break- 
ing, the  motion  of  the  machinery,  the  striking  of  the  signal- 
bell,  and  the  replies  that  followed.  I  thought  on  the  power 


286  IN  PORTUGAL. 

of  the  sea,  the  power  of  the  steam ;  there  was  in  all  this  a  sort 
of  regularity  in  the  restrained  shock,  the  heaving  of  the  sea, 
the  motion  of  the  ship ;  soon  I  was  familiar  with  all  this  as 
well  as  with  the  signals,  but  every  deviation  or  strange  sound 
awoke  my  attention.  I  could  not  turn  my  thought  from  the 
disasters  that  might  occur.  More  and  more  forcible  in  my 
imagination  grew  the  recollection  of  my  youth's  friend,  Jette 
Wulff,  who  experienced  a  terrible  death  on  these  same  seas, 
when  the  steamer  Austria  that  she  was  upon  was  burnt. 
All  the  fearful  things  I  had  read  about  of  their  sufferings  fol- 
lowed in  my  thought,  until  I  had  again  the  whole  death  scene 
in  vivid  remembrance. 

As  I  lay  here  in  the  night-time,  suddenly  the  sea  beat 
violently  against  the  ship,  it  stopped  as  it  were,  for  an  instant 
It  was  as  if  the  steam  held  its  breath,  as  if  the  machinery 
ceased  to  move,  but  in  the  next  moment  all  was  again  obedi- 
ence and  motion.  I  thought  of  shipwreck :  it  pictured  itself 
irresistibly  in  my  mind  that  we  had  sunk,  the  water  pressed 
upon  the  roof,  and  forced  itself  in,  all  the  lights  went  out ;  one 
felt  that  it  was  the  death  moment,  but  how  long  could  one 
keep  consciousness  ?  I  experienced  in  this  moment  all  the 
torture  of  the  death  agony  ;  the  sweat  poured  forth  upon  my 
brow ;  I  started  up,  rushed  out  from  the  cabin ;  a  single  lan- 
tern shone  here ;  I  tore  away  the  sail  at  the  guard,  and  looked 
out  —  what  splendor,  what  grandeur  !  The  whole  rolling  sea 
glittered  like  fire ;  the  large  billows  gleamed  with  phosphor- 
escent light ;  it  was  as  if  we  floated  upon  a  sea  of  fire.  I 
was  so  overwhelmed  with  this  sublimity  that  the  terror  of 
death  at  once  left  me.  The  danger  was  no  more  nor  less 
than  before,  but  I  ceased  to  think  upon  it ;  the  fancy  took  a 
new  direction,  and  my  thought  became  devotion  ;  whether  I 
die  this  night,  or  some  years  later,  it  is  alike  important  for  me 
to  live ;  death  comes  anyhow,  and  here  it  is  in  grandeur 
and  magnificence.  I  stood  long  in  the  star  light,  and  looked 
at  the  grandly  rolling  sea,  and  when  I  again  sought  the  cabin 
and  stretched  myself  upon  the  sofa,  my  mind  was  refreshed 
and  glad  in  its  devotion  to  God. 

After  some  hours'  restoring  sleep,  I  awoke  in  the  early 
morning ;  the  sea  swelled  high,  the  Portuguese  coast  could 


FROM  LISBON  TO  BORDEAUX.  287 

yet  be  seen  occasionally.  I  went  out  upon  deck,  and  began 
to  move  myself  about.  One  of  the  officers  taught  me  how  to 
take  sure  foot-hold,  and  how  I  might  walk  in  motion  with  the 
ship.  I  did  not  feel  sea-sickness ;  I  looked  at  the  rolling  sea, 
began  to  regard  the  life  on  board,  and  my  various  fellow- 
travellers.  One  had  told  me  that  it  was  a  very  mixed  com- 
pany, and  I  soon  got  a  sort  of  proof  of  it.  There  came  in 
the  morning,  from  one  of  the  state-rooms,  an  elderly  lady ; 
she  wept  and  complained  she  had  had  things  stolen  from  her 
while  on  board.  The  lady  had  embarked  at  Rio,  and  had 
from  there  shared  her  state-room  with  another  lady,  a  stran- 
ger, who  gave  herself  out  to  be  the  wife  of  a  consul,  and  was 
going  to  Lisbon  ;  there  she  had  yesterday  left  the  ship,  and 
taken  with  her  the  other's  gold,  bracelets,  and  drafts.  We 
could  not  write  to  Lisbon  before  reaching  Bordeaux  ;  by  that 
time  the  thief  had  probably  left  the  city,  gone  out  of  the 
country,  into  Spain,  and  perhaps  further. 

The  waves  rose  high,  and  I  asked  the  captain  if  they  grew 
still  higher  when  we  entered  the  Spanish  sea ?  "I  believe 
so,"  he  replied ;  but  as  the  day  advanced,  and  we  proceeded 
further  north,  the  motion  became  less,  and  I  could  move 
more  firmly,  and  looked  about  the  ship.  I  have  spoken  of  its 
dimensions,  of  the  many  cabins  in  the  hold,  the  kitchen,  the 
store-room,  the  machinery,  and  the  swarm  of  passengers. 
Out  on  the  veranda,  on  each  side  of  the  saloon,  were  settees 
and  chairs,  where  ladies  and  gentlemen  sat  in  conversation,  or 
with  a  book,  or  needle-work,  or  the  like.  In  the  engiue-room, 
where  the  engineer  sat  and  the  fire  shone  under  the  boilers, 
half-naked  workmen  moved  about ;  if  one  stepped  in  upon  the 
"  second  place,"  it  was  risky  walking,  for  there  on  the  deck 
stretched  groups  of  passengers,  piles  of  luggage,  monkeys  in 
cages,  swinging  parrots,  and  swarms  of  children,  —  a  medley,  a 
tumult,  as  at  a  fair  ground.  Not  yet  dared  I  venture  upon 
the  highest  deck,  from  which  the  orders  and  signals  were 
^iven,  and  the  large  bell  struck  the  hours.  These  passed 
swiftly,  and  our  steamer  not  less  rapidly,  and  yet  it  was  late 
in  the  afternoon  before  we  could  see  Cape  Finisterre,  and 
soon,  when  the  sun  sank,  its  outlines  disappeared  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night.  We  gathered  now,  almost  too  many 


288  IN  PORTUGAL. 

of  us,  in  the  laige  dining-hall,  all  well,  all  cheerful,  the  chil- 
dren altogether  too  lively;  it  was  a  children's  commotion,  a 
children's  noisy  frolic  ;  for  several  hours  a  couple  of  little 
ones  hammered  upon  the  piano,  and  the  parents  were  so 
gratified  with  their  children's  amusement,  that  they  did  not 
think  how  annoying  and  ear-torturing  it  was  for  us  others. 
They  let  them  bang  away,  making  noise  and  disorder.  To- 
ward midnight  it  became  quiet. 

When  I  went  on  deck  the  next  morning,  we  were  in  the 
Bay  of  Biscay,  thus  in  the  middle  of  the  Spanish  sea,  and 
here  it  was  still  as  the  face  of  a  mirror  ;  it  could  not  be  more 
beautiful :  the  surface  of  the  water  lay  as  a  silk  cloth  ;  it  was 
as  if  we  glided  over  an  inland  lake  where  the  winds  slum- 
bered. Thus -showed  itself  the  Spanish  sea,  which  I  had  so 
much  feared.  I  still  saw  the  mountain  heights  upon  the 
Portuguese  and  Spanish  coasts.  Various  objects  floated  on 
the  waves ;  they  had  been  thrown  overboard  in  storms  ;  here 
floated  fragments  of  wrecks ;  I  saw  a  large  red  chest  which 
came  in  our  direction. 

To-day,  at  last,  I  went  upon  the  upper  deck,  crossed  the 
hanging  bridges,  and  enjoyed  thoroughly  the  view  of  the 
boundless  ocean,  saw  large  fishes  lift  themselves  above  the 
surface'  of  the  water,  and  the  sea-birds  skimming  low.  To- 
ward the  evening  clouds  appeared  in  the  west,  the  waves  dis- 
played white  crests:  it  commenced  to  rain,  and  I  withdrew 
with  others  into  the  cabin.  I  felt  quite  used  to  the  sea,  ven- 
tured down  into  my  state-room,  for  the  first  time  while  on 
board.  The  motion  of  the  ship  in  the  strong  swell  sent  me 
over  several  times  toward  the  berth.  All  became  still  above  ; 
I  thought  I  heard  the  whistle  of  the  wind,  but  it  was  the 
wheel  of  the  ship  that  worked. 

In  the  early  morning  —  it  was  the  fourth  day  on  board  —  I 
hurried  on  deck ;  here  were  great  preparations  and  washing. 
We  approached  the  French  coast,  but  we  could  not  see  it  as 
yet.  After  breakfast  we  passed  the  light-house,  which  by  the 
Gironde  River  is  raised  upon  a  rock  in  the  sea  ;  at  this  point 
the  coast  appeared  sandy  and  flat.  The  Gironde  flowed  as  a 
great  broad  sea  out  ir.to  the  ocean,  entirely  yellow  ;  the  water 
of  the  sea  was  colored  by  it  a  full  mile  out.  It  was  reported 


FROM  LISBON   TO  BORDEAUX.  289 

in  Lisbon  that  the  cholera  was  in  Bordeaux,  but  it  was  doubt- 
ful. The  pilot  who  came  on  board  assured  us  that  the  health 
conditions  were  good  ;  it  was  the  first  pleasant  greeting. 

Once  in  the  river,  we  dropped  anchor  ;  two  small  steamers 
were  awaiting  us,  the  one  took  the  luggage,  the  other  the 
passengers.  We  were  so  many  that  the  steamer  was  over- 
loaded, scarcely  half  were  able  to  find  seats.  The  Gironde 
River  here  keeps  the  same  width,  up  to  the  junction  of  the 
two  rivers,  Garonne  and  Dordogne.  Upon  either  side  we  saw 
delightful  green  shores  with  vineyards,  cities,  villas,  groups  of 
poplars,  a  richly  varied  garland.  An  old  military  man  was 
all  attention  to  point  out  and  explain  to  me  all  that  we 
passed. 

Evening  approached,  however.  It  was  seven  o'clock  before 
we  reached  Bordeaux  ;  the  vessel  anchored  at  the  quay,  high 
up  in  the  city.  I  stepped  on  land,  but  did  not  see  a  familiar 
face  in  the  crowd,  until  the  guide  from  the  hotel  where  I  had 
previously  stopped  came  to  meet  me  ;  the  carriage  waited, 
and  as  a  dear  old  acquaintance  was  I  greeted  by  all  the  peo- 
ple of  the  house.  I  soon  saw  old  friends ;  the  voyage  was 
ended,  Portugal  and  Spain  were  far  behind  me.  I  was  in 
France,  and  in  a  few  days  in  Denmark  ! 


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